In Slumber She Waits
by curious-scholar
Summary: "You have but one week to find him you seek…" When Cami is put under a sleeping spell by a jealous Aurora, Klaus has to race against time to save her. The last thing he believes in is "true love's kiss," but he'll do whatever it takes, which may include believing that somewhere out there is a man whose love is strong enough to conquer pure evil… A Klamille fic.
1. A Macabre Present

**Chapter 1: A Macabre Present**

He hoped he wasn't too late.

Klaus had followed the trail of clues all day, each one posing a riddle that he had to solve before moving onto the next one. As riddles went, they were hardly mind-boggling, but he guessed Aurora was enjoying the fact she could lead him round by the nose—and around the city of New Orleans—much more than the flimsy intellectual challenge presented by her pathetic little game. He had no choice but to play along. Aurora was no doubt telling the truth when she warned him that if he didn't, if he tried to use magic or find some other way of "cheating," then Cami's life was forfeit.

He had badly miscalculated the threat Aurora posed. His anger over Rebekah had pushed him to show his hand too early. And now Camille was paying the price for his momentary lapse in judgment.

For the hundredth time that day, he had to stop as an overwhelming desire to break something—or someone—overtook him.

Aurora would do nicely. In fact, he looked forward to it. When he caught up with her, he'd deal with the problem of his ex-girlfriend, and it would give him immense pleasure to rip the bitch's black heart from her body. For now, he had bigger fish to fry, such as finding Cami and making sure she was all right.

The final clue came from an obviously compelled jazz musician on Frenchmen Street, who passed him a piece of paper and told him, "Enjoy, my sweet." The familiar lavender scent of the paper was cloying as he unfolded it and read the handwritten note:

 _Welcoming friend_

 _Invisible stranger_

 _Here she is both_

 _But is she in danger?_

He almost laughed out loud at the simplicity of the clue before crushing it in his hand and speeding off.

Rousseau's was closed despite the early hour, but the locked door would have been easily broken open even without the strength of a hybrid. It took him only a second to find her, laid out on the bar like a macabre present, the gauzy purple fabric of her dress fanned out over the dark wooden paneling and her hands folded over her chest.

Blind panic surged through him at the sight of her, rendering him immobile for a few seconds, until he realized that he could hear the signs of life within her, strong and steady. Her skin was pale and cool, but there was no sign of injury apart from the bite marks still visible on her neck. Aurora had fed on her, that much was clear, but she'd left Camille alive. This should have reassured him, but the nagging feeling that Aurora hadn't concocted this charade merely to send him on a wild goosechase lingered.

Shaking his head, Klaus scooped Cami up into his arms. Taking stock would have to wait until he had her somewhere safe. He'd feed her his blood. Everything would be all right.

They were back at the compound within a minute, and he called for his siblings as he took her into one of the unoccupied bedrooms upstairs. Gently, he deposited Cami on the bed, settling her as comfortably as he could and smoothing the hair away from her face. He inspected every inch of skin he could see for bruises or cuts, then felt for broken bones. It was then he noticed the note clutched in her hand, hidden until now by the frill of her sleeve.

Another infernal game? He cursed Aurora as he unfolded the paper and inhaled the sickly-sweet fragrance that clung to it before reading aloud:

 _In slumber, she waits_

 _To discover her fate_

 _Awoken by this…_

 _True love's gentle kiss_

 _You have but one week_

 _To find him you seek_

 _Or your quest is through_

 _And she lost to you_

Cold fingers of fear wrapped themselves around the back of his neck as the implications of the note sank in. Then the adrenalin started pumping through his veins, and sheer unadulterated anger took over.


	2. A Touch of the Medieval

**Chapter 2: A Touch Of The Medieval**

Klaus had reduced much of the furniture in the room to kindling before his anger was vented for the time being. He stepped over the remains of the chair he'd just destroyed and strode into the hallway. "Freya!"

His sister stuck her head out of her room. "You bellowed?"

"I need your assistance." When she just stared at him, he added, "Now would be good."

"I'm entertaining," she whispered. "Go away."

"Whoever you have in there, tell him you have family business to attend to. Now!"

"There's always family business to—"

"Tell your gentleman caller to leave now," Klaus replied quietly, "or I shall be forced to take matters into my own hands."

She exhaled heavily. "Meaning?"

"Meaning I will come in there, detach a certain part of his body and insert it in a place where, as they say, the sun doesn't shine."

Freya scowled at him, but she disappeared and then reappeared with a man who took one look at Klaus and retreated quickly down the stairs.

"This had better be important," she muttered as she walked past him into the room. She stepped over some of the debris on the floor, stopping short when she saw Cami stretched out on the bed. "This looks…interesting. And not at all what I was expecting."

"And it's not what you think, sister."

"Oh, I know that," Freya said, crossing her arms. "For one thing, you may be crass, rude, and disrespectful as a general rule—"

"Ah, you know me so well after so short a time."

"But not when it comes to Camille. Second, she's not the one I've heard moaning in the middle of the night. It's disgusting, and I don't even have supernatural hearing. Third, this mess is kind of a giveaway that something's not right. So what's going on?"

Klaus passed his sister the note. "This."

She read in silence, looked at the sleeping woman on the bed, and read the note again. Then she shivered.

That was not an encouraging sign. "Well?" he prompted.

"It's a sleeping spell," Freya said finally.

"Oh, really?" Klaus replied. "Isn't it fortunate I have a witch on hand to point out the bloody obvious for me?"

His sister wrinkled her nose at him. "No need to be testy."

"Is it possible for you to give me any information that might…I don't know…actually be useful?"

She thought for a long moment. "One thing I can say. This didn't come from one of the NOLA witches. It's old-school. I haven't seen something like this in a long time."

He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. "It does have a touch of the medieval about it, I suppose."

"Unfortunately, some of the oldest spells are the most potent," Freya said in an ominous tone.

He resisted the urge to shake his sister's head off her shoulders. "All spells can be broken. And this one should be something you're familiar with."

Freya rolled her eyes. "How thoughtful of you to remind me, Niklaus."

"I would have thought it obvious, but let me remind you I don't have time for the niceties at the moment."

"When do you ever?" She sighed. "Do you at least know the witch who cast the spell? Who ordered it?"

"I have no idea whom Aurora has called upon to—"

"Aurora? As in Aurora 'oh God, yes' de Martel? She's responsible for this?" There was a pause. "I guess your night-time escapades must be really good to make up for the fact that she's a psychopathic nutjob who heard Cami's name mentioned twice and decided to inflict an eternity of nothingness on her."

"I can assure you," he said quietly, "that woman means nothing to me now. Nothing."

Freya glanced over at Cami. "Perhaps that's the problem."

Klaus followed her gaze. Camille's face, usually so mobile and expressive, was blank and her skin white. She looked so vulnerable lying there on the bed, helpless, and it was his fault.

But now was not the time to dwell on such things.

"Leave Aurora to me. Right now, I need you to concentrate on what you do best. If this magic is as poorly done as the mediocre doggerel she has left us in that note…" He laughed with more certainty than he felt. "…you should have no trouble undoing it."

His confident façade didn't seem to fool Freya, because she was looking at him with unexpected softness in her eyes. "I will try, but if this spell is as airtight as I think it is, it is beyond my power to reverse it."

"You have to." Klaus put his hand on his sister's shoulder. "There is no alternative."

"Actually, there is. We don't have to break the spell. We can let it run its course."

" _That_ is not an option."

"I'm not saying we don't try to save her," Freya replied. "The note says we have a week to fulfil the conditions of the curse before Cami is lost to us forever."

"And how, pray tell, are you suggesting we do that?"

Freya waved the piece of paper she was still holding at him. "We find _him_."


	3. Plan A

**Chapter 3: Plan A**

Klaus spent the next few hours keeping busy and trying to anticipate Camille's needs, pushing Freya's ridiculous suggestion to the back of his mind. He hired a reputable carer, a young woman he paid handsomely in advance and compelled to forget whatever she saw and heard in the compound. Next, he broke into Cami's apartment to pack a bag. For some reason, he couldn't bear the thought of anyone else touching her things. But the trip turned out to be a bad idea. She had hung his painting on the wall next to her bed, and memories of the night they met revived the terror of not knowing if he'd ever see her smile or hear her voice again. Right now, he'd gladly settle for one of her fiercest tongue lashings.

Aurora couldn't have come up with a more cunning plan. Camille was alive, but only technically. This…whatever it was…a state of suspended animation, he supposed, was not living. Freya had told him that magic of this magnitude could slow Cami's metabolism so much that she required no sustenance to stay alive, but her body would continue to age—albeit slowly—until she eventually died of natural causes.

He was going to get well and truly sozzled tonight.

To that end, he grabbed a bottle of Dalmore 62 from the bar and made his way to Cami's room. It probably wasn't a good idea to waste the most expensive whiskey in the world on a night of feeling sorry for himself, especially if he was going to drink it neat, but the idea had a certain reckless quality to it that he needed to keep himself from going insane.

The room was dimly lit by a bedside lamp that cast a warm glow over the figure on the bed. He plonked himself in the chair next to it, unscrewed the cap on his bottle of Dalmore, and guzzled a large mouthful. The liquor was strong enough to make him wince, but he kept swallowing the stuff until most of the bottle was gone.

Now _this_ was the way to forget your woes.

"Splendid. You've resorted to drinking from the bottle now, I see," a familiar deep voice boomed from the doorway. "And alone."

"If you've come to lecture me, brother, I suggest you save your tongue," Klaus replied without turning around. "And I'm hardly alone." He swept his arm towards the bed. "Behold Sleeping Beauty."

"Our sister filled me in on the details," Elijah said, coming up behind him and resting his hand on Klaus' shoulder. "Do you have a plan in place?"

Klaus rose to face his brother. "Plan A is to stay drunk. Plan B…well, there is no Plan B. If you're feeling inspired, I'm open to suggestions."

Elijah studied Camille's sleeping figure. "Freya believes we cannot reverse the spell. She says the only hope to break its hold is to find the key to its power."

"Have you read the note, Elijah? This so-called key is 'true love's kiss.' If I even believe that there is a way to break the curse, where do we start? What would you propose? That we advertise on Craigslist for any Prince Charmings who happen to reside in New Orleans to come forward?"

Something like amusement flickered in Elijah's eyes. "I don't think that will be necessary. I believe the answer lies right under our noses."

"That's what I've been trying to tell the stubborn ass." Freya propped herself against the doorframe. "The answer is obvious."

"Is it, indeed?" Klaus replied. "Then, by all means, share it with me."

Freya walked up to him. "I've been inside your head, remember?" she said quietly.

It took him a few seconds to realize what she was insinuating. When it hit him, he made a noise that was supposed to indicate his disbelief, but which came out more like a pathetic _pfff_. "It appears I'm not the only one who's imbibed a little too much this evening," he said, waving the whiskey bottle in his sister's direction. "You really should ease up on the partying once in a while."

"You'll have to forgive our brother, Freya," Elijah said in an annoyingly smug voice. "He prefers to deflect his fear with vague insults and indiscriminate noises rather than face it."

Klaus jabbed a finger in his brother's chest. "I'm afraid of nothing."

Freya surprised both her brothers by letting out a loud hoot of laughter. "Oh, please, Niklaus. You're a wreck. The question is: are you afraid that you won't be the one to break the curse, or are you afraid that you _will_?"


	4. The Stuff of Fairytales

**Chapter 4: The Stuff Of Fairytales**

Elijah was the first to break the silence with a cough that was clearly designed to muffle his laughter. "If I ever doubted that you were a true Mikaelson, sister," he said, "I have no such qualms any longer. You not only brought up the matter of the elephant in the room, you climbed on its metaphorical back and clubbed it into submission." He inclined his head as if Freya were some sort of queen. "I salute you."

"Thank you, brother," Freya replied with an irritatingly wide smile.

"How touching," Klaus grumbled. "I'm so glad that your shared amusement has provided you both with this heart-warming familial bonding moment. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a bottle to finish."

"Niklaus," Elijah continued, "it behooves you to at least entertain the possibility that you are indeed the key to unlocking the curse."

"You do know those bedtime stories you read to Hope aren't actually true?" Klaus sighed. "You of all people, Elijah, should realize several things. First of all, you know that that 'she-devil,' as you call her, will play all the cards in her favor. She wants me to pay for taking her beloved brother. Do you really think she would allow a way for this curse to be broken? And even if she did, you and I both know I am hardly the stuff of fairytales."

"Not in the conventional sense, but just as Freya has been inside your head, I have been inside Camille's, and—"

"Do not finish that sentence," Klaus said threateningly, "unless you intend to shatter our fragile alliance, brother."

Elijah took a long breath. "So you would rather allow your doubts, your _fears_ , to prevent you from pursuing every course of action at your disposal? Even if it means condemning Camille to a lifetime of oblivion?"

 _You are such a coward_.

 _This is not about me_.

Her words returned to him, unbidden and unwanted, as if echoing what Elijah was saying. They always had a way of entering his consciousness long after she'd said them. Sometimes they were like a warm embrace, and sometimes they were like daggers. He'd never felt the sharpness of their blade more keenly than now.

He hated the feeling.

Klaus threw out his arms. "You wish to pursue every course of action, no matter how ludicrous?" He went up to the head of the bed. "Very well. Never let it be said that I'm not a good sport." With a jaunty bow, he bent to place a kiss on Cami's lips, making a loud smacking noise as he did so for the benefit of his siblings. "There you are. True love's kiss. Klaus Mikaelson saves the day yet again."

He didn't stop to look at the figure on the bed, nor his brother and sister, before he marched towards the door. And if he paused for a fraction of a second in the doorway, it wasn't in the hope that one of them would call him back, that a miracle had occurred, that he had somehow managed to bring her back to him.

Because he had lost his faith in miracles an eternity ago.

He spent the next few hours in his study, alone with his dark thoughts and a bottle of bourbon this time—much cheaper than the Dalmore and just as efficient. Long after Elijah and Freya had retired to their rooms, he crept along the hallway and returned to the room where she lay sleeping.

He closed the door and slumped into the chair beside her. The soft lamplight illuminated her exquisite profile—the perfect curve of her nose, the full lips, slightly parted now, the eyelashes fanned out over her cheeks, the stubborn jaw.

How it suited her, that jaw. After all, it was that stubbornness, that insistence of hers that she could take on beings much more powerful than herself, that was partly to blame for her being here.

 _You are tenacious_ , he'd told her. _It's one of the things I like most about you_.

His brave bartender.

Now he cursed the qualities that had won his admiration, something which was seldom sought and even more rarely given.

"Damn you, Camille O'Connell," he growled. "Damn you for allowing this to happen. Lucien was right. If you hadn't tried to rescue yourself, if you'd only stayed and waited—waited for me…"

That wasn't fair. Aurora would have come for Camille regardless. But he found himself clenching his fists as the words continued to tumble from his mouth—words he didn't even believe, but felt compelled to say anyway. "Damn you for not letting me get to you in time. Damn you for not letting me save you. Damn you for making me go through this bloody charade." His nails dug so deep into his palms that rivulets of blood began to drip onto the floor. "And damn you to hell for not letting me be the one."


	5. The Girl With The Sapphire Gown

**Chapter 5: The Girl With The Sapphire Gown**

 _It's night, and crowds of people fill the square. Couples are entwined in each other's arms as they stop to watch the artists and the musicians. A blues singer belts out a standard, but it's not long before the sound is swallowed up by a mariachi band. He wonders idly what they're doing there as tourists in Big Easy t-shirts surround him. He panics for a second. Then they part in front of him and he sees her._

 _She's turned away from him, but he would recognize her anywhere. Her flaxen hair is hanging down to her waist in gentle ringlets, and she's dressed in a long silk gown the color of her eyes, the sort of gown that was fashionable a thousand years before._

" _Rebekah," he says, laughing, "since when do you like street stalls?"_

 _She turns to face him then, and she scowls when she looks at him, and he doesn't know why. She holds out her hand, and he can see the roughhewn shape resting on her outstretched palm._

 _It's the knight he carved for her so many years ago._

" _Oh, Nik," she says. "Why? Why won't you help me?"_

" _I don't understand," he says. "You know I'd do anything for you. Anything."_

" _Why, Nik?" She shakes her head, and her eyes flash. "Why won't you help me?"_

 _She turns and disappears behind a man wearing a gaudy harlequin mask._

 _He follows where she's gone, but there are so many people, and they all look the same. And the mariachi band's trumpeter screeches a sour note, and he doesn't know where she is or what she wants._

 _Then the crowd parts, and he sees her just ahead of him. He can't let her get away again, so he pushes his way through a_ _never-ending_ _horde of Big Easy t-shirts and harlequin masks. She's standing in front of a painter who's filling the canvas with angry slashes of red and black that fill him with dread._

 _But he's found her, at least. He puts a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she turns around._

 _This time the girl with the curls and the sapphire gown isn't his sister._

 _He stares into those familiar green eyes, the ones he's looked into so many times before, and pure joy spurts through his veins. "Camille," he whispers. "It's you. I thought I'd never see you again."_

 _Those expressive eyes flash fiercely at him. She purses her lips and sticks out her jaw. "Why, Nik?" she says. "Why?"_

 _He doesn't understand. He tries to take her by the wrist, lead her out of here, but she resists._

 _She's unbelievably strong for a human girl._

" _Why won't you help me?" She shakes her head. "Such a disappointment."_

 _Bile rises in his throat. "Tell me what to do," he says. "I'll do anything. Just tell me."_

" _It's too late," she says, and she holds out her hand._

 _Something in her palm catches in the light reflected by the streetlamps and the vendors' floodlights. It's a silver dagger, delicate and flimsy, a plaything the size of a small child's toy._

 _He laughs at how absurdly tiny it is. "What are you going to do with that?" he asks teasingly._

" _What you deserve," she says, and she plunges the dagger into his chest before a piercing pain rips its way through him and the world turns dark as death._


	6. Prepared To Believe

**Chapter 6: Prepared To Believe**

He woke with a gasp.

It took him a few seconds to get his bearings, to understand where he was.

At some stage, he must have made it back to his room. Managed to undress himself and throw himself onto his bed, where he fell into a stupor.

 _It was just a dream_ , he told himself, willing his heart and breathing under control. None of it was real _._ _Just a nightmare_.

He took a shower, letting the scalding water blast his face like some sort of penance he had to pay. Even after it, the sense of dread he'd felt so vividly in his dream remained in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't superstitious by any means, and he didn't believe in letting his subconscious guide his actions. He scoffed at the idea that Rebekah and Camille were trying somehow to communicate with him on another plane—although he wouldn't put it past either woman to take the opportunity to give him a piece of her mind any way she could.

But one thing was clear. He'd never forgive himself if he failed to do everything he could to save both of them. At least with Rebekah, he had a plan and he knew it was only a matter of time before he got his sister back. Aurora's petty revenge had taken him completely by surprise and left him vulnerable. He'd been frightened, and he'd let his fear overwhelm him, make him weak. He'd given up too easily.

He returned to Cami's room and gently lowered himself onto the edge of the bed beside her. As he ran a knuckle gently down her cheek, he cursed himself.

His siblings had been right. Truth be told, he'd thought only of himself. But what did it matter who would free Camille from the curse? Saving her was more important than his pride.

She deserved so much, to live and be happy. To be safe. He wasn't going to give her up without a fight. Even if it meant he had to let her go.

So it was with a renewed sense of purpose that he marched downstairs to the breakfast table set up in the courtyard, where Elijah was holding Hope while Freya tried to spoon mustard-colored mush into his little girl's mutinous mouth.

"I didn't expect to see you this morning," Freya said, not even bothering to look up. "I was sure you'd still be brooding in some dark corner, feeling sorry for yourself. Or badly hungover. Or both."

He leaned over her shoulder to place a kiss on the top of Hope's fuzzy head and then took his place at the head of the table. "Well, I do so hate to disappoint you," he said cheerfully, "but I have work to do. And so do you."

"What's going on?"

"Aurora believes she has triumphed over me. I intend to make her see the grave error she has made. I will not stand idly by and see her take from me that which is mine."

Freya raised one eyebrow. "I get the idea you're not just talking about our sister here."

"We have Tristan," Elijah interjected before he could reply, "and we will use him as a bargaining chip to bring our sister home. Rebekah is safe, at least for now. Camille, on the other hand…"

"Camille, on the other hand, will be lost to—" To _me_ , he almost said. "She will be lost forever unless we can find a way to break the curse. I don't intend to let that happen. I've already wasted a day. I can't afford to wait any longer."

"So what's the plan?" Freya asked.

"I need you to consult your most brilliant colleagues and try to break the spell."

"And if we can't?"

"Then we find another way to awaken her."

"Hmm, could've sworn that's what I suggested in the first place," Freya said. "I thought you didn't believe in 'fairytales.'" He ignored the air quotes she brandished at him.

Instead, Klaus stared his sister down. "For her sake, I'm prepared to believe in anything. Even the idea that somewhere out there is a man whose love is strong enough to overcome pure evil."


	7. If You Was On Fire

**Chapter 7: If You Was On Fire**

"I asked you to summon them here hours ago. Where are they?"

Her arms folded, Freya was watching him from across the courtyard as he paced up and down. "You _commanded_ me to summon them here hours ago. They said they would be here, and they will be. Calm down, relax. Chill."

"Klaus Mikaelson does not _chill_." He hoped the expression on his face conveyed his distaste for such vulgar slang. "But apparently my sense of urgency is not shared by others. What are they doing? Enjoying a leisurely coffee on the way?"

"Yeah. With beignets."

Klaus recognized the petulant female voice. He turned to see Davina stroll in with an armful of magical objects, her pretty face contorted into a look of utter disdain—her go-to expression when it came to him.

"You know," she continued, "Kol's favorite."

Of course the little witch would make this about his brother. "Now is not the time for that," he reminded her.

"It never is." She flashed another scowl at him before marching over to the coffee table and unloading her collection of artefacts onto it with a clatter. Even with his knowledge of magic, he couldn't identify half the things littering the table. He just knew there was a lot of fur, teeth, and feathers lining the surface, along with some unidentifiable and rather vile looking objects.

"Thank you for coming," he said, not entirely sincerely. "For helping, despite our differences."

"I didn't come for you," Davina spat out. "I came for Cami. Where is she?"

"Upstairs," Freya said. "I'll take you to her."

Davina began following his sister up the staircase, and it was then he noticed that the little witch hadn't come on her own. "Ah, Vincent," he said, "I didn't realize you were here. Lurking in corners as usual."

Vincent strolled up to him, hands in his jeans pockets, the inscrutable expression he always wore in Klaus' presence firmly in place. "As I recall, you asked for our help, not the other way round. Seems to me you got a strange way of showing gratitude, Mikaelson. One of these days, you gonna tick somebody off."

"Very amusing," Klaus replied with a smirk. "I don't delude myself that either of you came for my benefit."

"You're right." Vincent leaned towards him. "I wouldn't piss on you if you was on fire. Like Davina said, I came for Cami."

Begrudgingly, Klaus gave the man a nod of approval, even though everything about him—his demeanor, his sense of calm, even the Louisiana drawl that Klaus found charming in others—was as irritating as fingernails on a blackboard. "I appreciate your candor."

"Oh, you can always rely on that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I got work to do."

Vincent would have pushed past him, but he placed himself directly in front of the witch. "Yes, about that. I want to ask a favor of you."

Vincent shrugged. "I already said I would help. You got me, you got the whole Tremé coven's knowledge and power."

"I know you'll do everything you can to undo the spell. But if that proves impossible, there is something else I'd like you to try."

"Okay," Vincent replied cautiously. "What you got in mind?"

Klaus paused a beat. "I want you to kiss her."

Vincent's eyebrows rose almost to his hairline, but other than that, his expression didn't change. "Man, you're crazier than I thought."

"I assure you I am completely rational. According to the person who ordered the spell, Camille can be awakened by a kiss. True love's kiss."

Vincent let out a puff of laughter. "And you believe them? The kind of person who would pull this crap ain't exactly what you'd call trustworthy."

"I believe that the people who care about Camille will do whatever it takes to save her."

Removing a hand from his pocket to rub his eyes, Vincent replied, "Cami and me, it ain't like that. You of all people should know that."

"Vincent." Klaus came eye to eye with the other man. "I will beg you if necessary. Please."

Vincent sighed and shook his head. "Look, man," he said, dropping his voice, "she was a true friend to me when nobody else wanted to know me. I'd walk through fire for that girl. But let's hope it don't come to that. You brought me here for my magic. So let me go do some."

And he did. By the end of the day, Vincent had done a great deal of magic. He, Freya and Davina spent long hours chanting and performing rituals that shook the paintings off the walls. From the sharp pains he experienced from time to time, Klaus was fairly sure that Davina was throwing in her own spells as well, but he ignored the little witch's attempt at retribution in the hope that she'd tire of her games and concentrate on the bigger picture.

When he went to Cami's room to check on their progress, the look on their faces told him all he needed to know.

"Try again," he said and walked out.

It was in the small hours of the morning that he returned. Freya was sitting in the chair next to Camille's bed, staring at the still body as if it might provide the answer. Vincent was leaning against the wall next to the window, and Davina was curled up in a ball on the floor, presumably asleep.

The sight made Klaus want to rip something in half. "It's good to see that the three of you are working your fingers to the bone," he said overly cheerfully.

"Don't yell," Freya said wearily. "We are, actually. We've tried everything."

"Try—"

"Try again? The thing is we've done that. We've tried everything we know a hundred times. A thousand times."

"Then try a thousand and one times."

"Won't do any good," Vincent said. "Whoever cooked up that spell for Aurora de Martel knew what they were doing. It's kind of impressive."

"You're impressed, are you?" Klaus sped over to Vincent and wrapped one hand around his neck. "Perhaps you'll be just as impressed when I mount your head on a stake as a warning to witches who think they can take on the Mikaelsons and win!"

To his credit, this witch didn't flinch.

"You're getting mad at the wrong people," Freya said, swiveling in her seat to look at him. "Now calm down and let's think this through."

Reluctantly, Klaus released his hold on Vincent. "You are absolutely certain that this spell cannot be undone by magic?"

"None that any of us know of," Vincent replied. "Not to brag, but we are three of the strongest witches in these parts. If we can't break it, it can't be broke."

Klaus exhaled slowly. "Then I need to implement the next phase of my strategy." He started for the door. "Sister, get some sleep. I may need you to perform a locator spell in the morning. And someone put Davina to bed."

"You're welcome, by the way," Vincent called out behind him.

"And as for you," he said, turning on his heel, "make sure you don't go too far either. I'm going to require the services of every man who could possibly be a candidate for Camille's affections. Starting with you!"


	8. On Pain Of Death

**Chapter 8: On Pain Of Death**

"What number are we up to?"

"Eight thousand, six hundred anndd…" The stripling Klaus had hired to coordinate the effort glanced down at his clipboard. "Forty-seven." When he looked up and noticed Klaus glaring at him, the young man checked it again with shaky hands. "Forty-eight."

Klaus exhaled heavily. Since the unholy trio of witches had failed to come up with a way to break the spell two days ago, he'd had to resort to more desperate measures. Which included hiring a simpleton who failed to recognize the urgency of the situation, apparently.

Klaus moved slowly towards his assistant. "What is your name?"

The young man gulped. "Jarrod, sir."

"Jarrod," Klaus repeated. "Well, Jarrod, I believe we may have a slight problem. We've been at this for a couple of days now, and so far you've managed to get through only a fraction of the number of men required. I think we need to pick up the pace, don't you?"

"Sir, it's not possible to move any faster. Each kiss takes at least thirty seconds to complete. Then there's the periodic reapplication of chapstick—"

"I don't see why a quick peck on the lips should take that long." Klaus stared deeply into his assistant's eyes. "You will ensure that each volunteer makes minimum contact with the subject. Fifteen to twenty seconds each should suffice."

"Fifteen seconds should suffice." The young man shook off the daze of compulsion and started herding the line of men that stretched the length of the courtyard into groups.

"You know," a familiar voice crooned behind him, "the last time somebody tried to get with Cami, you banished him on pain of death, and now you're lining the dudes up yourself."

"Marcellus," Klaus said without turning around. "I suggest that if you're here merely to make jokes in poor taste, you reconsider your schedule for the day."

Marcel appeared beside him. "Lighten up. Come have a drink with me. You look like you could use one."

"At this moment, many more than one," Klaus replied with a sigh. "Fine. As long as it's anywhere but Rousseau's."

Anywhere but Rousseau's turned out to be a dive in Algiers with aging celebrity photos peeling off the walls and a jukebox that played nothing but Elvis.

Marcel ordered them a round of drinks and they retreated to a dingy booth in the corner. The table was rickety and the upholstery lumpy, and there was a musty smell lingering in the air, but it was as far away from the other patrons as they could get. For that, he was most thankful.

Klaus inspected his dirty glass and took a hesitant sip of his bourbon. "If I'd known you were going to bring me here, I would have suggested we stay at the compound for that drink."

"You looked like you could use some air. It's good to get out for a while, get a fresh perspective on things." Marcel raised his glass in a toast, then downed his liquor in one swallow. "So tell me, Klaus. What the hell are you doing?"

Klaus dangled his glass from two fingers and set it down again. "Do you really not know what happened?"

"D told me what happened. What I want to know is what you think you're doing."

"I'm doing what needs to be done."

Marcel motioned to the bartender to bring them another round. "You really think inviting every dude in NOLA between the ages of puberty and death to your home is a good idea? How'd you do it anyway?"

Klaus shrugged. "I compelled the Chief of Police to compile a database of all resident males between the ages of twenty and sixty." When Marcel looked at him questioningly, he added, "I had to start somewhere. Then it was merely a matter of hiring a few trusted subordinates to track down these men and persuade them to donate their time to a good cause."

Marcel grinned. "But Dream Man remains elusive, huh?"

"We've had no results yet, but at least the systems are in place and we have a few days left."

Marcel waited for the bartender to shuffle over to their booth, shove two more glasses in front of them, and shuffle away. "What if the guy you're supposed to be looking for doesn't live here? Ever think of that?"

"I can assure you," Klaus replied, "I've thought of every contingency. That is why I had a private investigator look into any previous relationships Camille may have had at university or high school. I'll simply fly to wherever he resides and bring the man here."

"Hey, why not just charter a jet and fly in every guy she's ever talked to at the same time? Cover all your bases?" Marcel shook his head. "Klaus, do you know how insane—not to mention creepy—this sounds?"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures."

With a tiny smile, Marcel picked up his drink. "So should I feel slighted that you haven't asked me to participate in your crazy-ass scheme?"

That was the one question Klaus hadn't expected. "You're welcome to try your luck along with all the others."

"But," his adopted son replied, pointing a finger at him as he waved his glass in the air, "you don't think I could be the one. Do you?"

"I know you're not," Klaus said in all seriousness. "If you were, you would never have let her go."

Leaning back against the torn padding of the leather headrest behind him, Marcel let out a laugh of embarrassment. "Yeah, about that—"

"You don't need to explain anything to me, Marcellus."

"You sure about that?" Marcel asked. "Listen, I think Cami is great. Gorgeous, smart, funny, fearless. I meant it when I said she's a queen fit for a king. She came along too late is all."

Klaus knew that Marcel would never get over Rebekah completely, and as long as she came in and out of their lives, his adopted son could never move on. "I understand."

"I hope you also understand how sorry I am about what happened. Cami doesn't deserve this."

"Aurora will pay for what she's done," Klaus responded curtly.

"If I know you and Elijah, she'll regret she ever crossed paths with the Mikaelson family. Even more than she does now." Marcel took a sizeable swig of his bourbon and shifted in his seat before leaning forward. "Okay, before I lose my nerve, there's something I gotta say, and I know you're not gonna want to hear it and you're gonna be mad. But you have to be prepared."

"Prepared?" Klaus repeated. "For what?"

"For the worst. This is probably gonna end badly. Like _really_ badly. I think maybe you should prepare yourself now instead of when it's too late." When Klaus raised an eyebrow, he added, "You know what I mean. Let her go."

Resisting the urge to upend the table and smash it over Marcel's head, Klaus smiled, though there was no amusement in it. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"This crazy idea of finding the guy she's meant to be with…it's noble, but the chances of it working are…what? One in a million? Sometimes there's no percentage in fighting another round when you know you're gonna end up on the mat anyway. Sometimes you gotta throw in the towel before your face gets rearranged."

"Oh, well, seeing that you put it that way—so eloquently, by the way, Marcel, so poetically—I'll just give up, shall I? Hmm? I'll just let Camille rot for eternity because there's no point in trying to make an effort to save her."

"That's not what I meant. Doing something to achieve a purpose and doing something to avoid reality are two different things. I know you, Klaus. You prefer to face your enemies head on. You've never run away from a battle, and you never will. But this time you're not waging war, you're running away from the truth. You're delaying the inevitable. The harder you fight against it, the tougher it's going to be in the end. You have to accept that Cami is gone and begin to deal with it."

Klaus slapped his hand down on the table so hard it made Marcel and everyone else in the bar jump. "Klaus Mikaelson does not accept defeat!"

"Easy, easy," Marcel said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I was wrong to put it like that. But as your friend, I have to tell you the truth. You gotta know it's a longshot."

"Let me ask you something," Klaus replied. "What would you do if it were Rebekah, condemned to lie at the bottom of the ocean forever more? If you knew you might never see her again, even though you could have tried to bring her home? You can never know the warmth of her touch or the sound of her voice ever again. All the goodness, all the potential within her will forever lie dormant, her life utterly wasted. What would you do, Marcel?"

Klaus watched his friend's expression tighten as he continued. "Would you accept it, or would you do whatever you could, no matter the cost? Would you take a chance even though you're probably doomed to failure? Or would you let her go without a fight?"

Marcel stared at his glass for a minute. Then he slid his hand across the table and stole the second of Klaus' drinks, the one untouched. Marcel downed the nip of bourbon and slid the glass along the aging wood of the tabletop back towards Klaus. "All right. I get it, I get it. And you're right. I would do anything to save your sister, just like you want to save Cami. But what I don't get is this: you cared for her, she obviously cared for you, yet you never made a move. So answer me one question. What the hell were you waiting for?"

Klaus looked away. "Marcel—"

"Me and Beks, our timing's always been lousy, but at least we know where we stand. With you and Cami… It might be too late now. You'll never get a chance to tell her how you feel."

Klaus opened his mouth, then closed it again. What could he say?

"I don't understand what's been holding you back all this time. It's not like you fell in love with her yesterday."

The words being spoken aloud gave Klaus a jolt, and the shock must have shown on his face, because Marcel added, "Come on. It's no secret. Everybody knows."

Klaus could feel the warm blood flooding his cheeks. Ordinarily, he was the one who made others squirm. And here he was, blushing like an awkward teenager at the mention of his crush.

Marcel spread out his hands as if to say _come on_ a second time. "Besides the fact that Cami is too damn good for you, what was your problem? I've seen you with other women. You've never been shy about getting what you want."

"This is different," Klaus blurted out. "It's because I care for her that I wanted to stay away. I thought if I kept my distance, if I kept things simple, uncomplicated, that neither of us would be hurt. I wanted to protect her from my enemies…from _me_."

"Yeah, you thought," Marcel said. "That's what D would call an epic fail. You're a goddamn idiot, Klaus Mikaelson."

"Says the man who chose a city over my sister."

"All right, I'll give you that one." Marcel nodded. "Looks like we're both goddamn idiots. I must've learned it from you."

"You've clearly learned nothing from me. I'm a better dresser, a better fighter and a better lover."

"You wish," Marcel grumbled. A smile slowly broadened across his face. "At least we both have good taste in women."

"Can't argue with that," Klaus replied.

The tension broken, the two sat in companionable silence while "Heartbreak Hotel" played in the background.

"I failed to protect her, Marcel," Klaus said finally, staring mournfully at the two empty glasses in front of him. "And because of that, she may be doomed to spend the rest of her life in limbo."

"And even if you save her, you're gonna have to watch her make out with some random dude before she vows everlasting love to the guy." Marcel leaned over and clapped him on the shoulder. "Sucks to be you, buddy."

Klaus didn't know whether to laugh or throw his companion across the room. He eventually chose the former. "You're a terrible friend, Marcel."

"I'm a great friend." Marcel tightened his grip on Klaus in a show of support. "Just tell me what I can do to help, and I'll do it."

"Very well. Find me some young, virile men and have them delivered to my home, would you?"

Marcel grinned again. "Now that's something I haven't heard you say in a while."


	9. Twenty-nine Thousand Men

_Thank you for the kind reviews. I know some of you are frustrated that Klaus didn't wake Cami up. But there wouldn't be a story if it were that easy, would there :) …_

 **Chapter 9: Twenty-nine Thousand Men**

"Twenty-nine thousand, two hundred eighty-nine."

Klaus nodded an acknowledgement as he passed his assistant in the courtyard. He didn't even have to prompt the young man anymore. As soon as Jarrod spotted him, the boy was quick to check his clipboard and announce the rapidly growing total.

 _Twenty-nine thousand_. No wonder the compound felt more like Union Passenger Terminal than a home these days. Too bad they'd only scratched the surface as far as the hundred thousand or so eligible men of New Orleans were concerned.

Freya, it seemed, was already losing her patience. Every time she passed Jarrod, she'd whisper to Klaus, "I'm one flick of the wrist away from turning that buffoon into a newt."

"Even if that were possible," he'd reply, "it would be a waste of your talents, dear sister."

But as much as he put up a brave front in the presence of his family, his own nerves were fraying quickly.

Twenty-nine thousand potential suitors had traipsed through his home, inconvenienced his family and slobbered over Camille. Unfortunately, it had taken two and a half days before it occurred to him that a kiss through the plastic of a CPR mouthguard, rather than lip to bare lip, still counted as the real thing. Twenty-nine thousand men had made contact—directly or indirectly—with Camille's luscious lips.

And not one of those men had been able to wake her up.

He let out a few choice curses on his way to her room. When he'd started on this quest, he'd felt certain it would only be a matter of time before he found her savior. After all, any man who met Camille could hardly fail to appreciate her beauty, her mind and her spirit. Any man would be truly fortunate to love her and be loved by her in return.

In fact, he'd assumed that her true love would be someone they already knew.

But truth be told, he'd held his breath as Vincent, Kinney, Lucien and even his brother all took their turn placing a chaste kiss on her cold, pale lips, and even though he told himself a thousand times he wanted to find this mystery man, with each failed attempt to awaken her, he let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding.

His heightened senses picked up the conversation coming from her room as he rounded the stairs, a few archaic swear words still on his lips.

"…but what if the person we're looking for is not a guy at all?" Davina was saying.

"I always assumed Cami was into dudes," Josh replied. "Big hunky dudes like Marcel. I mean, we all are, but…" Klaus could almost hear the cogs turning in the young vampire's brain. "I guess she could be bi. I'm not into the ladies myself, but if I were, Cami and some girl-on-girl action would be totally hot."

There was a long pause.

"She did say she thought a woman's mouth on her neck would be more erotic," Hayley said. There was another pause. "It was part of the plan to trap Finn."

"Guys, you're missing the point," Davina said. "Sure, Cami could be bi. But what I mean is maybe it's not about attraction or desire. Maybe it's a different kind of true love we're supposed to be looking for."

A prickling began at the back of Klaus' neck as he listened.

"Maleficent," Davina announced, and there was another pause. "Nobody else has seen the movie? Maleficent is the only one who can uncurse the princess with true love's kiss. So what if it's not about romantic love at all? What if this kind of true love is the love of family…or…or friendship? What if we've been looking in the wrong places all along?"

Klaus stopped and stood in the hallway for a minute as his mind went into overdrive. Then he retreated to his own room, doubt and self-recrimination pounding into his brain like a hammer.

What a fool he'd been. A pathetic, addlebrained idiot. He'd never even stopped to consider what the 'true love's kiss' actually meant. How could he have been so shortsighted? He'd made all kinds of assumptions about who he was looking for, and in the process he may have wasted valuable time and destroyed whatever chance he had to save her. For once, Klaus Mikaelson, the master strategist, had failed to consider all the options.

He'd failed _her_.

Again.

With shaking hands, he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. He had to think. What could he do with two days until the deadline?

 _Her parents_. He'd locate her family and bring them here. Camille hadn't talked much about her parents, although he knew they weren't close. Perhaps mending that relationship was the key to undoing the spell.

He got out his phone and called his team of private investigators, who promised they'd have a location for him within the hour. They got back to him within half that time. By then, he had a jet on standby, despite the fact he had no idea how long his journey would take and how he was going to get the O'Connells to come here if they really had disowned their daughter.

Would he have to compel them to do the right thing? And would she forgive him if he did?

It was a chance he'd probably have to take.

He had packed the barest essentials in a backpack and was on his way downstairs when he felt the first twinge of a headache. He ignored the pain at first; no doubt Davina was playing games again. He supposed he had earned her hatred, and who was he to deny someone an attempt at petty revenge as long as it didn't end up with a white oak stake through his heart?

But when it seemed as if his brain was about to force its way through his skull, he dropped to his knees. The next blast of pain was so intense it had him on all fours, and the one after that had him whimpering in the fetal position before his head exploded and everything merged into magnificent shafts of yellow and white light.

The next thing he knew he was standing in a dingy room lit by sconces, the walls lined with tapestries and smelling of lavender. He recognized the owner of this room even before he heard the trill of laughter coming from behind him.

"Hello, my precious love."


	10. One Headache After Another

**Chapter 10: One Headache After Another**

 _Aurora_.

Just the woman he wanted to see. He would have preferred to meet her in the flesh—removing her pretty little head from her pretty little body would be deliciously satisfying—but perhaps he could learn some valuable information about the spell while he was here. And he could savor his revenge at a more appropriate time.

So he hid his fury from her and feigned mild annoyance instead.

"You could have just called, you know," he said, turning to face his ex-girlfriend. "Such a flair for the dramatic."

"I had to get your attention, Nik," she said. "I'm sorry for the headache."

"Why apologize now? With you, it's one headache after another."

Aurora pouted. "Oh, don't be like that, darling. I simply wanted to talk, and I thought you might be a little angry with me at the moment." She spread out her arms. "Hence the built-in safeguard."

Klaus looked around the room. "A _chambre de chasse_. I'm impressed."

Aurora clutched the small gold pendant hanging around her neck—the key to the magic of the _chambre_ , he surmised. "Do you remember this place? We spent many happy hours here."

Klaus smiled coldly. "Did we? I'd forgotten."

"Ooh, you are mad," Aurora said. "I hoped we could have a friendly little chat and make up."

"That depends," Klaus replied. "Am I going to have to tidy up any more of your messes?"

"That's why I summoned you here. I want to explain."

"Explain what, exactly? Why you cursed Camille? I have no need of explanations, I can assure you."

"I did it for us," Aurora said, sashaying up to him and placing a hand on his chest. "So you can get over this foolish obsession you have with your little human pet."

Klaus resisted the urge to bend back her fingers until he heard the crack of her delicate bones breaking. "Don't be silly. She means nothing to me."

"I wish I could believe you, darling, except I saw the way you took off after each clue, as if your own life depended on it. I saw how desperate you were." Aurora tilted her head and looked up at him. "I see it in your eyes now."

"Nonsense," Klaus said, but he feared his face was betraying him. "Though I must insist you end this game. It's becoming quite tiresome."

She patted his chest as if he was a small child. "You know, when I returned to your side after many long years spent apart, I expected that you would have taken other women to your bed. Perhaps even thought yourself in love with a few of them. But I admit I was not prepared for this."

"This?"

He watched Aurora as she turned away from him and began to walk around the room. "You would sacrifice everything we had, everything we shared, for a woman whom I know for a fact you haven't slept with. You haven't even kissed. Why is that, do you suppose, Nik?"

"Perhaps because she has done nothing to deserve your jealousy, my sweet," he said. "This is beneath you."

"If only it were that simple." Aurora stopped. "What if I were to tell you that you can only have one of us? Your little human therapist…or me."

Klaus took a few steps towards her. "I would say I don't make bargains with those who try to force my hand. Even blackmailers as delicious as you."

"Blackmail?" She laughed, emitting a high-pitched trill that set his teeth on edge. "Such a harsh word. All I am trying to do is make you see that you must make a choice. Or have you made it already?"

Klaus shook his head. "There is no choice to be made. I will always choose you. After all this time, you know that, surely?"

"I wonder. I wonder if you even know your own feelings. Or hers. I had to compel her to tell me the truth, of course, but as it turns out, your precious Cami is actually in love with you. Quite desperately, in fact. She knows what you are, and yet she loves you."

His heart lurched in his chest. He'd dared to hope Camille might care for him, but he'd run away from the possibility for so long that to have it confirmed terrified him. "Whatever her feelings, they will fade and die soon enough," he replied, a thick knot forming in his throat. "She is mortal."

"And what of your feelings, Nik? Hmmm? Will they fade too?"

Klaus moved closer to Aurora, hoping the expression on his face appeared to be that of a man looking at the object of his affections. "My feelings will never fade…" He smiled as he drew his hands up her arms slowly. "…for you, my love."

Aurora shivered. "If only I could believe your love is true."

"Must I prove it?" he said, bending to kiss her.

Aurora giggled and put a finger to his lips. "I'm afraid you must before I even think of allowing you back in my good graces."

He placed a kiss on her finger before removing it gently. "How, my sweet? Anything you desire. Just name it."

"I want _her_. Your little human pet. I want her gone. For good, Nik."

Klaus straightened. "I told you—"

"And I told _you_ you have to make a choice. If you choose me, you will do nothing more to try to save her from her inevitable fate."

"I will never do that," he snarled. "I will _never_ make such a choice."

"Then I shall choose for you. Not that it makes a difference to what will happen to your ridiculous little human. Believe me when I say you'll never see your beloved Cami awake ag—"

Klaus had Aurora pushed up against the wall and his hands around her throat before he realized what he was doing. "You seek to threaten me? Know this. I don't respond well to ultimatums. If you do not release Camille from the curse, I will gladly end you." He increased the pressure on her throat before he released her suddenly.

Aurora let out a shriek as she hit the wall behind her and ricocheted forward again, putting out her arms to recover her equilibrium. She stared at him wordlessly for long seconds, her mouth gaping open, before leaning back against the wall nonchalantly, as if it had been part of her plan to expose him all along.

He supposed it had been.

And he had walked into her trap.

To his horror, her mouth slowly twisted into a wolfish grin. "And there it is. Your intentions laid bare. Your true feelings made clear. And just as I suspected, you would choose an ordinary human girl over your equal, who could rule beside you for an eternity."

"You're right. She is not my equal." Klaus sneered down at Aurora. "She is my better. And I would choose one day with her over a millennium with you."

The smile slipped from Aurora's face and she pushed past him. "That is exactly what you will have with her. What a pity for her that even though there is a way to save her, you'll never know what it is."

"I already know what it is," he growled.

"Yes, true love. Something you know nothing about, Nik," Aurora replied, playing again with the pendant she wore. "You think you're saving Cami by choosing her? You're condemning her. You destroy everyone who cares for you. You destroy everything you touch. And now our conversation, like everything else about us, is over."

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He saw the flash of a very bright light, and once again his head threatened to split open.

Seconds later, he was lying on the floor of his home.

And no closer to finding a way to save the woman he loved.


	11. Irish Stubbornness

**Chapter 11: Irish Stubborness**

Hours later, he was driving along a picturesque tree-lined road in semi-rural Connecticut. After Aurora returned him to the compound, he had bolted out the door and then headed for the airport. The car he'd had waiting at the other end of the flight was built for comfort rather than speed, and he found himself clutching the steering wheel impatiently all through the two hour drive. Eventually, he came to the street he was looking for: Serenity Drive.

He wondered how serene the O'Connells would be once he told them why he was there.

The first glimpse he got of Number 11 was from the long driveway that took him through a tall open gate, curved through a series of magnificent oak trees and finished outside a stylish two-storey home. He got out of his rental car and made his way to the front door, gravel crunching under his shoes as he walked. He pressed the doorbell, and an elaborate series of chimes sounded from inside. Clearly these people liked to make an impression.

The door was opened by a young woman wearing a crisp maid's uniform. Behind her, he could see a large foyer with a black and white marble floor and a long curved staircase at the end of it. "Good afternoon, sir," she said, sounding as mechanical and sing-songy as the bells that had announced his presence. "How may I help you?"

"Good afternoon." Klaus gave the girl his most charming smile. "I'd like to speak to Mr and Mrs O'Connell please."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"I don't," he said, moving a little closer, "but I'm sure they'll want to see me."

"May I have your name and the reason for your visit?"

"No," he replied. "You may not."

"I am sorry, sir, but I'm under strict instruction not to let in any visitors without finding out the nature of your business."

"Don't be sorry, love," Klaus said in a soothing tone as he got closer to the girl and looked into her eyes. "Your instructions have changed. You're going to let me in without making a fuss—"

"I'll see to the gentleman, Amanda."

Klaus looked up, startled by the familiar tone of the feminine voice. He was further startled when he caught sight of the middle-aged woman coming down the staircase. She was wearing an elegant and understated, though undoubtedly expensive, blue silk suit. Her hair, blonde but fading gracefully into gray, was swept away from her face, her large jade-green eyes appraising him shrewdly, her stubborn jaw set in a way that was all too recognizable.

Dear God, this was exactly what Camille would look like in thirty years.

His breath caught in his throat. He needed this to work.

"You may go, dear," the woman said as she approached them.

But Amanda, the young maid, didn't look as if she wanted to go. "Are you sure, Mrs O'Connell?"

"I'm sure. That will be all. Thank you." Camille's mother watched the maid curtsy and disappear silently, then turned her attention to Klaus, focusing her large, and hauntingly familiar, green eyes on him in an unwaveringly direct gaze. "I don't take kindly to strangers trying to force their way into my home. What do you want?"

"I'd like to speak to you about your daughter."

He clearly heard the sharp intake of breath before she recovered her composure and asked coolly, "Are you a police officer?"

"I'm a friend. That's why I'm here. I need your help. _She_ needs your help."

He could see her hesitate. "I'm sorry. I can't help you."

"You're Camille's mother."

"And you are?"

Klaus sucked in air. "As I said, I'm a friend."

The woman's gaze hardened. "If you are indeed her friend, then you needn't waste your time here."

"Don't you even want to know why I need your help?" Klaus asked. "Don't you care that your daughter is in trouble?"

"My daughter was the one who decided to cut all ties with her parents," she replied sourly. "She wouldn't let us help her the last time she got arrested."

"You don't understand. She hasn't been arrested," he said, puzzled by her response. "Allow me to explain."

"You don't seem to understand that I can't help you!" There was a flash of some emotion he couldn't quite identify in her eyes—desperation? Fear?—but it vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. "Good day to you."

She began to shut the door, but he forced it back. "You're going to hear me out. I've come all the way from New Orleans, and I'll be damned if—"

She suddenly let go of the door, and it banged against the wall next to her. "What?" she said faintly before taking several steps back and looking at him with wide eyes. "What did you say?"

"That I've come from New Orleans, and I'll be damned—"

"You've come from NOLA?" Her face took on an ashen color. "You mean to say that Camille is in New Orleans?"

Without waiting for an answer, she rushed over to the bottom of the stairwell. "Patrick!" she screamed. Klaus could see her hand tremble as she clutched the bannister.

She repeated yelling the name over and over until a man appeared at the top of the stairs. A tall man with dark hair—one who reminded him of a certain priest he'd known.

"Hell's bells, Lisette, stop making such a racket. What in the devil's name is wrong?" The man caught sight of Klaus and silently observed him for a moment. "And who the devil is this?"

"Not quite," Klaus replied, "but you're almost right."

"She's still in New Orleans," Lisette said in a chillingly despairing tone. "Camille."

"What are you talking about?" Patrick O'Connell shot down the stairs. "What's this about my Cami?"

"We were wrong. She's still in New Orleans. She must have stayed there. He told me," Lisette added, nodding her head in Klaus' direction.

Patrick squinted at Klaus. The man's eyes were hazel, not green, but his expression was the same one Klaus had seen in Camille's eyes when he'd made her his stenographer—curious and slightly cynical. "And I still don't know who the devil this is."

"Be careful," Lisette warned her husband. "He's a vampire. He tried to compel his way in."

So they knew about the supernatural world. "Actually, I'm a hybrid." Klaus inclined his head. "Klaus Mikaelson, at your service."

The O'Connells both gasped and glanced sideways at each other.

"I see my reputation precedes me," Klaus said.

"Yes, we've heard of you," Patrick replied. "What do you want from us?"

"I want to help your daughter. I want _you_ to help your daughter."

Lisette folded her arms. "It's a trap. He wants to get us back to NOLA."

"It's all right," Patrick said. "We're not going anywhere."

Klaus was losing his patience. "You might want to rethink that. Invite me in, and I'll explain why."

"No." Lisette was shaking her head over and over. "No, we can't allow him in, Patrick."

"He's not coming in, my dearest," Patrick told his wife and turned to Klaus. "We don't want any trouble. Please go."

Klaus prowled restlessly at the open door. "What kind of parents are you? I came here to seek your help because your daughter has been cursed. She needs you."

Both of them stared at him. He could see a thousand emotions flitter across their faces, but they said nothing. What was wrong with them?

"She needs you," he repeated slowly. "I need you to return to New Orleans with me."

Lisette put a shaking hand to her mouth, and Patrick closed his eyes. "You've come to the wrong place," he muttered. "We can't help you."

"Did you hear what I said? Camille has been cursed. You could help save her."

"I'm telling you we _can't_ ," Patrick replied. "Whatever has happened to our daughter, we can't help you."

Klaus wanted to tear the house apart. For a second, he wanted to tear _them_ apart. "You can, but you won't," he said quietly. He began to turn away, but he had one last thing to say, and he wanted to look into their eyes as he said it. He positioned himself in the center of the doorway and glowered at them. "How on earth did the two of you raise someone as beautiful as Camille? She's brave, kind, and strong—all the things that the two of you can never be. May you rot in hell for abandoning her when she needed you the most."

He heard Lisette sob and saw tears start to cascade freely down her face. He also saw the desolate look on Patrick's just before he turned on his heel and strode back to his car.

It gave him some comfort to know that he'd hurt them, but his victory lasted only seconds before the empty feeling of helplessness returned.

What the hell was he going to do? He was back at the beginning. He was running out of options. Running out of time.

There had to be some way to save her, _someone_ to save her. But who?

"Wait!"

The last thing he expected to hear as he opened his car door was the sound of Patrick's voice calling him back.

Camille's father stopped a few feet away from him, putting out his hands as if to beg Klaus for something. "Don't go yet, please."

"Aren't you afraid to come out of your home? I could kill you with one bite."

"I know your reputation." Patrick sighed. "But I don't think you came all this way to hurt me."

"I could still kidnap you," Klaus said with a sneer. "Force you to come back to New Orleans."

"You obviously care for my daughter. I don't think you want to do that."

Klaus looked away. "Go back inside before I forget you're her father."

"I want you to understand," Patrick said. "We're not…we're not bad people."

Klaus raised his eyebrows. "Forgive me if I don't believe you."

"We can't help you because we can't go to New Orleans."

"You don't say." Klaus let out a mirthless laugh. "How dreadfully inconvenient it would be for you to have to leave the comfort of your lovely home to come to the aid of your daughter."

"For heaven's sake, man, listen to me. My wife and I are not allowed to set foot in New Orleans again. If we enter the city limits, they'll annihilate not only us but our daughter as well!"

 _Oh_.

Well, this was interesting.

Klaus stared at him. He hadn't expected things to be quite _this_ complicated. In fact, he hadn't expected this at all. "Now," he said, "you have my full attention."

Patrick tilted his head and looked at Klaus with that familiar expression again. "It's a long story. Are you sure you want to hear it?"

"I've come here for your daughter's sake. In this case, I have the patience of a saint."

"I imagine patience is indeed one of your few virtues, Mr Mikaelson." Patrick glanced at Klaus ruefully, the combination of humor, understanding and slight condemnation dancing in his eyes reminding Klaus of Camille's uncle. "I don't even know why I feel the need to tell you my story."

"Because you don't want me telling Camille you abandoned her. So what _is_ this story you have to tell?"

"My story, yes." Patrick contemplated the roof of his house, clearly gathering his thoughts. "I have to go back a ways, to when our father died and Kieran, being the oldest, took up the O'Connell family legacy. You're familiar with our history?"

"Oh, I've known a few O'Connells in my time," Klaus replied, "including Father Kieran."

"Then you know that O'Connells have kept the balance of power in the city for nearly two hundred years—some more successfully than others, of course. Kieran was one of the more successful. My brother had a real talent for it, in fact. At first, I could never understand how a priest could possibly reconcile his faith with what he had to do to keep the peace. But he always told me the most important thing was protecting the humans of the city. And even though I tried to keep out of it—I had a wife and young children to think about—I began to see things the way he did. I hated that the witches and vampires could impose their will simply through sheer force, because they were powerful. The imbalance, the _injustice_ began to eat away at me. So I started to get involved."

Klaus smiled reluctantly. "That sounds like someone else I know."

"Irish stubbornness runs in the family, Mr Mikaelson. Cami inherited both that _and_ the gallic pigheadedness that comes from my wife's side of the family."

Klaus couldn't help but smile again. He had the feeling he was beginning to like the man.

"Unfortunately, I made a terrible mistake. I tried to take on the witches by myself, behind Kieran's back. I threatened them that if they didn't back off, I'd make them regret it. Little did I know that it would be me who would come to regret ever learning about the supernatural world. Bitterly."

"They hexed you?" Klaus said.

Patrick nodded. "They told me that if we stayed, New Orleans would be the death of us. They would make sure my whole family paid the price for my recklessness. So I took my wife and children and fled in the middle of the night, like a coward."

"Not a coward," Klaus said, remembering his own past. "You did what was necessary to protect your loved ones."

Patrick shrugged. "I thought I was doing the right thing. Eventually, we came here. We gradually let go of the past and rebuilt our life. And it was good, at least until the twins grew old enough to begin asking questions about their family that we couldn't answer. Until Sean decided…" Patrick swallowed heavily. "…to follow in his uncle's footsteps. I begged Kieran not to let him stay there. I knew it would end in…" The man struggled to go on. "I knew it would end in tragedy for Sean, but Kieran seemed determined to drag his nephew into the mess. And when my innocent boy killed those other innocent boys…and himself…"

Instinctively, Klaus grasped the man's shoulder. He could feel Patrick's body shaking beneath his fingers.

"I couldn't even bury my son," Patrick whispered. "You can't imagine what that did to me."

Klaus knew exactly what it cost not to be able to do right by one's kin, but he kept silent in the face of the man's anguish.

"And Cami…" Patrick gave Klaus a wan smile. "My girl came out of the womb questioning everything. She didn't understand why we left our home and never went back. She never understood why she couldn't see her beloved uncle anymore. Once, when she was thirteen, she left without telling us and hitchhiked to NOLA to visit him. She grew more and more distant and rebellious because she was smart enough to know there was something wrong, and that we were lying to her. When she got into trouble in college, we didn't even know about it until later, when Kieran told us. And Sean…she thought we turned our back on her twin brother. She never forgave us for it."

Patrick clutched at Klaus' shoulders. "You have to get her out of that place. I can't save her, but perhaps you can. Please…promise me you'll do whatever it takes to keep her safe… Promise me."

Klaus found himself saying the words. "I promise. I will save her. I promise."

"Thank you." Camille's father let out a ragged sigh and sagged against him. "Thank you."

Silently, Klaus allowed the man to lean on him for a moment.

Finally, Patrick straightened and took a step back. "Thank you," he said again.

Klaus nodded and bent to get into his car.

"One last thing," he heard Patrick say. "You went to a lot of trouble on her behalf. She must mean a lot to you, my Cami."

"I'd go to hell and back for her," Klaus found himself saying.

Searching his face, Patrick said, "That makes you a very good friend. Extraordinarily good, considering my daughter is human and you're immortal."

Klaus shook his head. "I'm far too selfish to be anyone's good friend."

"Ah, I see." Patrick gave him another of those rueful smiles. "So you're in love with my daughter?"

Klaus looked the other man in the eye before he answered. "I am."

"And does she love you?"

"I have reason to believe she does."

Patrick blew out a quick breath. "You're not exactly the sort of man I envisaged for my daughter, Mr Mikaelson. Far from it. But if she has to be caught up in the supernatural world, then I suppose I have to be glad to have an Original in our corner."

"I promise you," Klaus replied, "that I will do everything in my power to save her."

"I trust that you will. I also trust that you'll find the people responsible for hurting my little girl. " Patrick extended his hand for Klaus to shake. "And make the bastards suffer."

Klaus clasped his hand and shook it firmly. "And make the bastards suffer."


	12. You Always Wanted Her Heart

**Chapter 12: You Always Wanted Her Heart**

Klaus awoke the next morning feeling the oppressive weight of depression suffocating his soul.

His visit to the O'Connells, though interesting and enlightening, had ultimately been a waste of time. They were no longer the faceless ogres he'd imagined them to be, but they were of no help either. He could have insisted they risk their lives to come here, but there was no guarantee they'd be the key to waking her up, and he knew their daughter would never forgive him if the last of her family perished, no matter how noble their end would be.

In a flash of inspiration, he'd asked Freya about moving Camille to Connecticut. As it turned out, that wasn't an option either. Freya was adamant that once Cami left New Orleans, the curse would automatically be triggered, and Camille put to sleep for the rest of her life.

If family was the key to breaking the spell, he'd never be able to use it.

And this—today—was his last chance to save her. Unless he found a way to unlock the curse, today was the last day before she'd be lost.

Forever.

He was not in the mood to contemplate the parade of strangers coming and going downstairs, so he spent the morning in his study, scouring his mother's books for some missing piece of information, something that no one had yet thought of. After hours spent in vain, he threw a particularly heavy tome across the room. He'd always attempted to shape his own fate—or at least make the most of the hand he'd been dealt—but now fate was openly laughing in his face.

He hated feeling so helpless.

The temptation to murder someone was becoming overwhelming. He knew Camille wouldn't approve of him spilling the blood of an innocent, but the victim he had in mind was far from innocent.

His priority was to keep her safe, and there was only one way to do that.

Besides, he'd made a promise to her father to make the people responsible suffer. And the person most responsible was the one he most looked forward to exterminating.

A win-win situation all around.

He knew the ding of the elevator outside Lucien's penthouse would alert whoever was inside to his presence, but he didn't think stealth was necessary this time. In fact, he wanted Lucien—and Aurora, hopefully—to know he'd come for them.

Just as he thought would happen, the doors opened even before he got to them. From inside the apartment, Lucien gave him a cheeky grin. "Why, Nik," he said, "how wonderful to see you again."

Klaus grinned back. "Is it, Lucien? Perhaps you won't think so when I tell you why I'm here."

"Don't tell me, let me guess. You've come to tell me how your dear friend Cami is doing. I do hope you've been able to revive her. I'm still shocked I couldn't bring her round. The ladies usually can't resist me." Lucien winked at him and gestured for him to come in.

"And yet," Klaus said, walking past him into the opulent apartment, "the one woman you want has managed to resist you for a millenium."

The smile was wiped from Lucien's face momentarily. "That's a low blow, Nik, even for you." Plastering the serene façade back on his face, he added, "But I forgive you, old friend. Care for a drink?"

"No," Klaus replied, "I don't care for a drink. I've come for her."

Lucien shook his head. "Who are you talking about?"

"You know who, _old friend_. We were talking about her not more than ten seconds ago. Aurora. Where is she?"

Lucien shrugged. "Why would you think I know where Aurora is? I told you when I first got to town that we haven't kept in touch. That rather awkward dinner of yours was the first and only time I've had the pleasure of her company in ages."

"And I told you when you first got to town that I trust no one. Not even one of my oldest friends." Klaus stared pointedly at the closed doors to Lucien's bedroom. "I'm sure you won't mind if I take a look around."

"Is that really necessary, old chap?" Lucien said quickly. As Klaus meandered in the direction of his bedroom, he added, "I assure you, you won't find anything." His voice grew more insistent the closer Klaus got to the door. "I give you my word."

In a flash, Lucien was between him and the door. "Can't a fellow have some privacy? I could have a lady friend in there."

Klaus smirked at him. "You're not normally this puritanical. I'm absolutely certain there is nothing behind that door I haven't seen before."

Lucien didn't share his amusement. "Don't do anything you might regret, Nik."

"Why would I regret it?" Klaus asked innocently.

"I don't mean that you'll regret it exactly," Lucien said lightly, "but I have a right to be miffed that you don't trust me. Is it worth ruining our friendship over something so trivial?"

Klaus looked his old mate in the eye. "You can either stand aside and let me into that room, or I can compel you to tell me where Aurora is."

"I don't much like either option," Lucien snarled. Then he smiled widely. "However, I have no way to stop you, do I? Have at it then."

Lucien sidled out from his position between Klaus and the door and walked over to the kitchen. "Now would you like a drink?"

"I'm glad you see things my way." Klaus grabbed the door handles. "I'd love to have a drink once I've dealt with your treacherous companion."

There was the sound of something whizzing fast through the air, and a sudden piercing pain in his back brought Klaus to his knees with a groan. When he managed to turn and face Lucien, the cheeky bastard was wearing an insolent grin.

"Sorry for the backache, but you know how it is. A chap has to protect the people he cares about. I'm sure you understand that instinct, at least."

Klaus could feel the dagger-like object working its way through his skin. He fumbled around to his back, but he couldn't quite reach the bloody thing. Perhaps if he rolled onto his side, he could twist his body far enough to grasp the dagger with his hand.

Lucien stood over him. "It's ironic, isn't it? Me using one of your pretty friend's dark objects against you. But then she's more than just a friend, isn't she, your precious Cami? It seems only fitting that I save the woman I love with what I took from the woman you love."

Klaus writhed on the floor. Gradually, his fingers were moving closer to the handle. Just an inch more.

"I do like Camille, you know. She's easy to look at, amusing, smart. And a good judge of character, as it turns out. What a pity she got involved with you, though. You have an unfortunate habit of destroying everyone who loves you."

"That's just what Aurora said." Klaus flexed his fingers one last time and finally made contact with the handle. With one quick jerk, he removed it and hurled it at Lucien's chest.

His diminutive mate didn't even see it coming. He lurched forward, then recovered his balance. "Oh, Nik. You do realize I can pull it—"

Before he could even finish the sentence, Klaus had his hand around Lucien's throat. Squeezing tightly, he picked up his friend until Lucien's toes were dangling a foot above the floor. "This has been an entertaining visit, but I think it's past your bedtime. Time for you to take a nap."

He squeezed even tighter and launched his friend's body across the room. Lucien hit the wall with a thud and crumpled onto the floor.

"Goodnight, old friend. Sleep tight." Dusting off his hands, Klaus turned to the bedroom door. "You might as well come out now, Aurora. I know you're in there. I can smell the scent of terror in the air."

There was no response, but his enhanced senses picked up the sounds of someone moving in the next room.

"Very well. If you won't come to _me_ …" He spoke with deliberate slowness. "…I'll have to come to _you_."

With dramatic over-exuberance, he flung open the doors.

Huddled in the corner, Aurora was staring at him with wide eyes and making whimpering noises.

"Aurora," he said, "I'm somewhat surprised at you. Thinking Lucien of all people could protect you from me was a devastating error."

"Nik, please." Aurora pulled herself up off the floor. "We can work this all out, can't we, my sweet?"

"Do you remember the promise I made you, _my sweet_?" He could see the naked fear in her eyes, and he smiled menacingly as he slowly walked towards her. "I promised I'd end you for what you did to Camille."

"But…you love me. You've always loved me."

"I did love you once. And now I'm going to kill you."

She squealed when he stopped mere inches away. "You know I only did what I did so we can be together. We're meant to be together."

"I thought that once too, but I was wrong."

"No, my love," she said, her voice a harsh croak. "Remember what we had together. Remember what I mean to you, what I've always meant to you."

"You are nothing to me," he said, enunciating each word carefully. "As soon as I leave this place, you will be nothing more than a bad memory."

"You'll always be the love of my life," she blubbered.

"Which is going to end right…about… _now_."

He punched his way through her chest and grabbed her heart, causing her to scream and shudder. Tears streamed down her face.

"And know this," he said, squeezing and releasing his grip on the organ. He felt elation pumping through his veins in time with the muscle pulsing between his fingers. "Your brother's death will be slow, painful and spectacular. Mercifully, yours will be quick."

With one final squeeze, he ripped her heart out of her chest cavity. Aurora's face was frozen in horror as she collapsed in a crumpled heap at his feet.

Blood and meaty bits of gore dripped a trail along the carpet as Klaus walked back into the living room carrying the bitch's black and shriveled heart. He hadn't killed anyone for a while—truth be told, Camille had helped quell the urge to hurt others that had built up in him over the centuries—but that had been utterly satisfying.

Near the line of windows that looked out onto New Orleans, Lucien was moving along the floor like the slimy little caterpillar he was. He rolled over and looked up at Klaus, his mouth drawn back in a ghastly O shape. "What have you done?" he screeched. "What have you done?"

"You should be thanking me, old friend," Klaus replied. "You always wanted her heart. Here it is."

He tipped his hand and let the organ slip out between his fingers. It fell onto Lucien's chest with a loud plop.

All the way back down in the elevator, Klaus could hear Lucien's screams of anguish reverberating through his very expensive apartment.


	13. More Powerful Than Death

**Chapter 13: More Powerful Than Death**

The first thing Klaus noticed when he returned to the compound was the absolute quiet.

He called out for his sister, who appeared at the balcony upstairs. "Where are they all?" he yelled. "The remaining men? Where's Jarrod?"

"Gone," she said as she descended the stairs.

"What do you mean, gone?"

"I mean gone. Departed. Done. Finished. Shut up shop. As of twelve noon, the only men in NOLA who hadn't been through this house were pre-pubescent boys and eighty year old men."

Klaus couldn't hide his disappointment. "And nothing? All those thousands of eligible candidates and…nothing?"

" _Nada_ ," she replied. "You didn't really think you would find the answer that way, did you?"

He thought of a sarcastic retort, but he didn't have the energy to deliver it. The adrenalin that had surged through his system after killing Aurora seemed to drain away, leaving that crushing feeling of depression he'd felt before to take over again.

Freya must have sensed it. "Klaus," she said sympathetically, placing a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. I know this wasn't a game to you. You really wanted to believe that she could be saved. In spite of all you've seen, everything you've been through, you still wanted to believe that love is stronger than evil. More powerful than death."

He felt the sting of tears welling in his eyes but he tried to laugh it off. "We are cursed, sister. I've known it for centuries, so it shouldn't come as a surprise now. Everything we touch turns to ash. Every moment of happiness is fleeting."

"You have a little time yet." Freya looked away, but not before he saw moisture glistening in her eyes as well. "Until nightfall comes..."

"Nightfall?" That couldn't be right. Technically, a day didn't end at dusk. "Surely we have until midnight?"

Shaking her head, Freya replied, "That spell is ancient. It comes from an age when men measured the time by the rise and setting of the sun."

Even a few hours ago, it seemed he still had all the time in the world. Now…

Freya surprised him by drawing him in for a hug. "Go to her. Spend the time that's left telling Camille all the things you've left unsaid." She sniffed and wrinkled her nose. "But I suggest you shower first. Wash off the smell of blood. You can't go to her like that."

He did as she suggested, taking a lengthy shower and changing into a gray Henley and a dark pair of jeans. Truth be told, he was taking his time. He didn't deal well with helplessness. A sense of dread overtook him as he made his way to her room to say his final goodbyes.

It gave him a small measure of relief to see that the young carer he'd hired had carried out his requests: that Camille be dressed in the flowing green floral dress he liked, her hair styled in gentle waves. That vases overflowing with fragrant pink rosebuds be placed on every surface in the room.

He'd insisted that when Cami woke up, she would see nothing but beauty all around her.

The thought that she would never again enjoy the simple pleasures of life, never smell a flower or hear music, never laugh, never dance—no matter how badly—made him sink to the floor at the side of her bed and bury his face in the covers.

He didn't know how he was going to get through these last hours. Or what he'd do once they were up.

 _Tell her_ , Freya had urged. But where would he start? He needed more than a few hours to tell Camille what was in his heart. What he'd always been too afraid to say directly.

And what was the point anyway? Her true love was still out there somewhere, and he'd failed to find him. All he knew was that it wasn't him.

He let out a bitter laugh. Of course not. How could her true love be a miserable, undeserving wretch like him?

So in the end, he stayed where he was, his face pressed against the bedcovers, his hand holding hers, as shadows began to fill the room and memories began flooding back.

 _The Hundred Dollar Guy._

 _The Brave Bartender._

 _The Curious Scholar._

A hundred scenes played themselves in his mind. The night they met. His compulsion. The slap she gave him. The night she'd looked into his memories and seen a man, not a monster.

 _No one should have to experience things like that_ , she'd said.

And he'd fallen in love with her, just a little, in that moment. When he'd bared his soul and she had opened her heart.

 _And you…you are beautiful._

Inside and out.

 _There are good things, Klaus._

You, always you.

 _And I would wish for nothing more._

 _I would have found you._

"I would always have found you," he whispered, raising his head and noticing that it was almost dark now.

It couldn't be time.

"No, please," he said, though he couldn't have said who he was pleading with. "It's not time for you to take her. Not yet."

As if mocking him, the last golden rays of late afternoon sun began to fade. And with them, any lingering hope that he could defy destiny and for once, overcome his demons and seize happiness.

He'd never been afraid of the dark before, but now he dreaded it. He wasn't ready.

In desperation, he steepled his hands together and prayed. "Please don't take her. She's innocent. Don't punish her for my sins. Don't make her suffer for what I've done. I beg of you."

He repeated his prayer over and over, even though he had no idea which deity he could even appeal to. Not the gods he vaguely remembered from his Norse childhood. Mischievous and vain, they would laugh at his prayers. Not the stern, distant god of Klaus' youth, the one that demanded grand cathedrals be built to honor Him. Not the merciless god that had met them in the New World—witches were an abomination, His followers had decreed, to be punished and shunned. That god would never answer the prayers of an even more abominable creature such as him.

Yet still he prayed. "I've tried everything I know, but tell me what you want and I'll do it. I swear it. I'll make sure she's never put in danger again. I'll send her away. I'll give her up if only you'll let her live. Just give me a sign. Tell me what you want. Please."

But there was no response. No change. No hope.

In the end, his prayers became incoherent ramblings as the blackness of night settled over the room like a deathly shroud.

Eventually, he roused himself. Even though his siblings would already know, he needed to tell them that Camille was gone. And more than that, he needed to be with them.

Klaus stood and turned on the bedside lamp. There was no way he'd leave Camille alone in the dark. Ever. Letting out a long, ragged sigh, he smoothed back her hair. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I failed you. Forgive me." He ran his fingertips gently down her cheek, wanting to feel the warmth of her silken skin one last time.

Then he bent to kiss her lips. "Goodbye, my beautiful love," he whispered.

As he straightened, he thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye.

A flutter of her eyelids.

His pulse quickening, he searched her face for any clue that she might be rousing.

Nothing, and yet…

He kissed her again. With his keen hearing, he just caught the slight intake of breath. But then she settled back into the rhythm of sleep.

"Please," he called out to the heavens. "I don't know who I'm talking to—God, The Ancestors—but whoever you are, please let her come back. I beg of you."

He was answered only by the sound of his voice echoing in the silence, and the regular in and out of Camille's breaths as she slept on.

He continued to wait, watching her face for any changes, looking at the steady rise and fall of her chest. But nothing changed. After an eternity, the grim reality seeped into his reluctant brain.

He was being played with, like a mouse at the mercy of a hungry cat. In this case, he was the hapless mouse being toyed with by a cosmic-sized feline.

Camille wasn't going to wake up. His kiss hadn't saved her. He was a failure.

She was gone.

The tears were flowing freely down his face as he walked out into the hallway. Freya and Elijah were already waiting for him there, sympathy and pain clearly etched into their faces.

He struggled to speak. "Thank you, brother. Sister. Camille—"

A faint noise, something like a moan, made him pause.

 _Not again_.

He couldn't take this; he wanted to destroy the house and everything in it. He wanted to bring misery to the world, inflict pain on anyone who had ever looked sideways at him. He couldn't bear to get his hopes up, only to have them dashed again.

Not again.

"Niklaus," Freya said, "I'm so sorry that—"

"I beg your pardon, dear sister," Elijah said, "but I feel the need to inform our brother that I heard it too."

"Elijah, what are you—" she began.

He held up one finger.

"It's nothing, Elijah," Klaus said, desperately trying to convince himself as much as his brother. "Merely a cruel joke on the part of whoever cursed Camille to sleep forever more."

A second noise, stronger this time, drifted along the hallway.

Elijah cocked his head, and the two brothers looked at each other. Their senses on alert, they stood immobile while their sister glanced between them with a confused expression on her face.

Klaus' heart was pounding already. When he heard another rush of breath, even more definite this time—exactly like the sound of someone waking from a deep sleep—it threatened to leap out of his chest.

Elijah nodded.

But it couldn't be.

"It couldn't be," Klaus said aloud, but he was already retracing his steps.

Using his vampire speed, he rushed back into the room and stopped abruptly.

There, on the bed, Camille was rubbing her eyes. She propped herself up on one wobbly elbow and blinked at him. "God, I feel like I've been in a coma. How much did I drink?"

Behind him, Freya squealed loud enough to wake the dead.


	14. An Extreme Case Of Jetlag

**Chapter 14: An Extreme Case of Jetlag**

From the way Klaus, Freya and Elijah were staring at her—like she'd just died and come back to life—Cami realized she must look as bad as she felt.

The room spun as she lifted her head. Wow, she must _really_ have tied one on.

Except that this was like no hangover she'd ever suffered before. Thankfully, she didn't have the usual feeling of a hammer cracking her skull open, but every other part of her—every cell in her body—felt _awful_. Her lips were as parched as a desert, her mouth felt like a cat had given birth to a litter of kittens on her tongue, and none of the muscles in her arms or legs wanted to work. In short, she felt like she'd been hit by a truck.

It didn't help that she'd just about had a heart attack when Freya shrieked like a banshee only three feet away from her.

Cami tried to sit up, floundering around on the bed like a baby turtle trying to make it to the ocean. And all three of them were watching her in fascination. Hadn't they ever seen the aftermath of a heavy night before?

Klaus rushed over to sit beside her. "You're awake," he said, making it sound more like a question than a statement of fact. She noticed his hands were trembling as he put his arms around her and helped lift her up into a sitting position.

"More or less." She leaned against him, grateful for the assistance at first and then appreciative of the firmness of his chest against her cheek and the way his arms were wrapped protectively around her. Cami would have enjoyed their closeness even more if she didn't have the sudden desire to throw up all over him.

"I'm sorry if I startled you a minute ago," Freya said. "How are you feeling?"

"On a scale of one to ten, about minus seventeen," she replied.

Klaus chuckled and placed a soft kiss against her hair, surprising the hell out of her. Had she been in an accident or something?

"That's to be expected after what happened," Freya said. "From experience, I can tell you that you'll feel woozy and disoriented for a while. I'd liken the feeling to an extreme case of jetlag. It will pass quickly."

Cami nodded. "I'm glad to hear it. But what did happen?"

"It's hard to explain out of context," Freya replied. "Think back. What's the last thing you remember?"

Cami closed her eyes. Gradually, memories began to take shape in her mind. Being held captive at Lucien's penthouse, making her escape, running into Klaus' crazy ex…

"Aurora," she said, opening her eyes.

Elijah stepped forward. "She abducted you in retaliation for taking her brother. Do you remember what happened when you were held hostage?"

Cami took a deep breath to help her focus. "I remember we were in Kieran's church. She asked me questions…I don't remember what about, though. I remember her mood was unstable; one minute she'd be angry, the next she'd be laughing."

"Sounds like Aurora," Klaus muttered.

"Do you remember seeing anyone else in the church?" Freya asked.

"No," Cami said. "There was nobody else."

A face began to materialize in her mind. A face looming over her…

She instinctively recoiled.

"What is it?" Klaus ran a hand up and down her arm soothingly. "What do you remember?"

"I did see someone else," she told him. "An old lady. A _scary_ old lady."

Elijah and Freya glanced at each other before Freya turned back to Cami. "Did Aurora refer to her by name?"

"No." Cami shook her head. "I don't think so. Why?"

"You were cursed by a witch, and we think that old woman must be her," Freya said. "She placed you under a very powerful sleeping spell. It's a miracle you came out of it."

"I was cursed?" Cami's mind didn't want to process the idea. "How long was I out for?"

"A week," Freya said matter-of-factly.

"A whole week?" Cami let out a puff of incredulous laughter. "Well, I guess that explains why I feel like someone ran over me. Then backed up and ran over me again."

"Know this, Camille," Elijah said, his face deadly serious. "The Mikaelson family does not forgive or forget such treachery. We protect our own. We swear to you that we will avenge you for this."

Klaus pulled her tighter. "I promise you I will find this woman," he murmured against her temple, "and I _will_ kill her." Damn the man if he didn't make it sound almost like a lover's vow.

Which meant Cami must have lost all sense of reality, because she _liked_ it.

"Thank you all," she said, "but I don't think that will be necessary. I remember after she got in my face and started muttering some mumbo-jumbo, Aurora snapped her neck. I appreciate the thought, though."

"That takes care of one problem, I suppose," Freya said.

"There is still the matter of Aurora de Martel, however," Elijah said in a very menacing, Elijah-like way.

Cami felt Klaus stiffen. "That matter has also been taken care of," he said quietly.

Elijah and Freya both looked at her, obviously curious to see how she would take the news that Klaus had killed his lover as punishment for cursing her. If she was honest with herself, she wasn't all that horrified. Maybe she had become desensitized to violence—or she had lost all perspective because of her feelings for Klaus—but she accepted now that if someone came after a person any of the Mikaelsons cared about, that someone would suffer. Plus she had learned through experience that there were some threats that could only be dealt with by terminating them with extreme prejudice.

Not to mention Aurora had tried to terminate her.

"Ordinarily," she said, "I'd be telling you all not to kill anyone for me. But Aurora hates me so much I'm afraid she would've come after me again." Cami rested her hand lightly over Klaus'. "So thank you for making sure that doesn't happen."

Klaus twisted his hand around, and their fingers interlocked.

It felt bizarre yet entirely comfortable for them to be holding hands and cuddling while they discussed murder and revenge.

"There is still one more threat," Klaus said. "Lucien is not going to forgive me for Aurora. I should have dealt with him at the time, but I admit I wasn't thinking clearly. I think it's best if you stay here until I find out what his intentions are."

Cami nodded. "Whatever you think."

He squeezed her hand in response.

"Niklaus," Elijah said, "seeing that Camille is safe from harm for the time being, you and I should discuss how we will deal with Lucien."

"I suggest it can wait, brother."

Cami could hear the irritation in his voice. She didn't want to let go of him either, but she knew his mind wouldn't rest until he had put a strategy in place to take care of his remaining enemy.

"It's all right," she told him. "I really want to take a shower and freshen up."

He nodded. "Very well. If you need anything, you only have to call out, and I'll come immediately."

As he got up to follow Elijah out the door, Cami realized she didn't know if she had anything to change into. "I might need to stop by my place, get some clothes. Pack a toothbrush."

"That won't be necessary," Klaus said proudly as he walked over to the antique mahogany armoire and threw open one of the doors. "I brought over everything you need."

She could see a selection of her clothes hanging inside. "I'm impressed."

Klaus looked slightly embarrassed. "You needn't worry about a thing. Just relax. Get to know my sister a little better. Feel free to talk about me."

Freya smiled maliciously. "Don't worry, we will."

"Of course you will. What other topic is as fascinating?" He gave them both a dimpled grin as he left.

"Obviously sarcasm is lost on him," Cami said, shaking her head.

"My horrid little brother is insufferably cocky, I'm afraid," Freya said, but she was smiling affectionately. "Before we share war stories, if I were you, I would check to make sure that what he thinks is essential and what you actually need are the same thing."

Cami laughed. "Good idea." She started to fossick through the drawers and rifle through the clothes hanging in the closet. It didn't take long before she began to notice a pattern. Everything was pretty—and pretty impractical, especially for someone who was supposed to be lying on a bed comatose. Holding up a lacy thong in one hand and a curling iron in the other, she turned to Freya. "I suppose I should be thankful he brought my best underwear instead of the stuff with holes and dead elastic, but really? He remembered to pack hair appliances but not one pair of pyjamas?"

"Perhaps he didn't think you'd need them," Freya said, raising an eyebrow.

Feeling the heat of a blush forming on her cheeks, Cami busied herself rearranging the drawers.

"I can lend you whatever you need. In my brother's defense," Freya went on, "he wasn't really in his right mind when he made that selection."

Cami turned around. "What do you mean?"

"Camille, you were condemned to sleep forever unless we could find a way to free you from the curse. Klaus was frantic to save you from eternal oblivion."

Thinking of Klaus trying desperately to rescue her made Cami's heart do a very peculiar dance. "I guess it's more serious than I thought. You might want to tell me exactly what happened."

"Are you sure?" Freya asked. "It could take a while."

Cami went over to the bed and sat cross-legged on it. "I've got all the time in the world. I'm supposed to be relaxing, remember?"

"Then let's start at the beginning." Freya climbed onto the bed and tucked her feet underneath her. "One week ago, you fell into a deep slumber…"


	15. Show Me

**Chapter 15: Show Me**

Most of the room was in shadow apart from the two halos projected by the bedside lamps. But Klaus had no real need of man-made light tonight, not with his enhanced hybrid senses on alert and especially not with the light from a high full moon slanting through the French doors.

Though he'd learned to ignore it over the years, he still felt the pull of the moon each month, a certain prickling at the base of his spine that called him out into the night. But it wasn't his werewolf side causing his restlessness this evening; it wasn't the great outdoors that he was gravitating towards.

It was her.

He'd almost succumbed to the temptation to go to her room. In fact, he'd made it to the hallway outside her door several times. But something had held him back, convinced him to turn around and retreat.

The prospect of losing her for good had galvanized him into action, but now she was awake, now she was here, in his home, his old demons began to whisper in his ear. For all his bravado, it was fear that always stopped him from acting on the attraction he felt for her. It was doubt that kept him rooted to the spot now, staring out the window, bathed in moonlight. It was uncertainty that stopped him from going to Camille and begging her never to leave him again.

In the end, it was Camille who came to him.

He heard her bare feet padding along the floorboards outside his room before she appeared in the open doorway, looking ethereal in a flimsy white cotton nightgown and a matching robe that was left hanging open. With the fruity fragrance of her shampoo still lingering in the air, her hair was a riot of curls, as if she'd washed it and let it dry naturally, and her face was free of makeup. For a second, she appeared as an angel in the darkness.

"Klaus?" she called out softly.

His first thought was that, for her to seek him out in the middle of the night, something must be wrong. "What is it?" he asked. "Are you all right? Did something happen?"

"No, no, everything's fine." She shrugged one shoulder. "I couldn't sleep, that's all."

Relieved by her words and calmed by her stillness, he gave her a wry grin. "Hardly surprising since you've spent the past week doing nothing but napping."

She smiled, a wide open smile that made her eyes crinkle. "Don't remind me." Camille padded over to stand beside him in front of the window, and he watched her turn her face up into the moonlight. Her skin was flawless; if he reached out, he could touch it as he had many times before…

"Wow," she said, turning to him and causing him to grip his hands together behind his back as if she'd caught him out. "I wish I had this view of the moon from my room. It's as dark as—"

"Night?" he answered lightly.

"Something like that," she said with a laugh in her voice.

He searched for something intelligent to follow up with, something witty so he could hear her throaty laugh again, but all he could think about was how she was here in his room in a nightgown. Less than a foot away. He felt intoxicated with the sensual overload her proximity was causing in him.

"Klaus?"

He pretended to watch the moon even though he was painfully aware of the woman at his side. "Mmm?"

"I want to thank you. For what you did."

"I did nothing," he began.

"No," she said vehemently, "that's not true. Freya was a bit vague on the details—in fact, I'm sure there's a lot she hasn't told me—but I know you turned this town upside down. You didn't do nothing, you did _everything_." She looked up at him, her gaze earnest and almost reverent. "You saved me."

 _You saved me._ But did he? It was true she'd woken up after he kissed her, after he'd begged for her life. But who had he struck the bargain with? The Fates? The treacherous witch ancestors? The devil himself?

He smirked at her to hide his embarrassment at being cast in the role of hero when he knew damned well he didn't deserve it. "You know me, love, I have to take care of my therapist and stenographer. Who else would listen to my life story?"

Klaus watched her expressive face change as she processed what he said, saw the passion with which she'd defended him fade from her eyes to be replaced with something like disappointment. And then she stuck out her chin stubbornly, a sign that she knew he was "deflecting," as she called it. That once again, she'd seen right through him.

"I do know you," she said. "And that's why I don't believe you."

He opened his mouth to make another flippant response, but she cut him short by stepping closer and grasping his wrist as if he was about to bolt. "I know I mean more to you than that," she whispered. "If you can't tell me, show me."

A heavy silence filled the room as Klaus hesitated, his mind cataloguing all the reasons why it would be a very bad idea to do as she asked. There were a thousand of them, all undoubtedly sound, all of which he'd used before as an excuse to stay away. But he was tired. Tired of running, tired of pretending every part of him—every muscle, every sinew—wasn't drawn to her like a thirsty man seeking water. He was tired of trying to convince her he didn't love her, didn't want her, when he did—so very, very much.

 _Show me_.

He lifted his arm, bringing her hand, which was still gripping his wrist, to his mouth and placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. When he heard the slight intake of her breath, he slid his hand back so that he could interlock his thumb with hers and turn her hand over. Then he pressed his lips to her fingertips, her palm, and finally, the delicate skin of her wrist, where her pulse was beating fast.

Camille looked up at him, her large eyes luminous. _Yes_ , they told him, cracking his heart wide open and giving him the courage he needed to continue.

He let his fingertips drift up her arm, over the thin fabric of her nightwear, around the curve of her shoulder to her throat. They lingered over the strong lines of her jaw, and he used his thumb to caress her cheek before he cradled her face tenderly with both hands.

Camille closed her eyes, her face gloriously beautiful as he tipped it gently upwards.

And after having waited for so long that he thought it would never happen, Klaus touched his mouth to hers.

Her lips were soft and pliant, just as he'd thought they would be, and she opened them to him on a long sigh of contentment that heated his blood. He felt her stand on her toes to twine her arms around his neck, and he released her face to curl his hands around her waist and pull her to him. He broke the kiss long enough to murmur her name before kissing her again, coaxing and teasing with his tongue.

When she dragged her fingers through his hair, he let his hands splay over her back, enjoying the divine curve of her bottom and pressing her firmly against the evidence of his desire. Tasting her lips was not enough anymore; he pulled away to trail a series of open-mouthed kisses down her throat.

Impatient now, he pushed the cotton wrap she wore aside so that he could kiss his way along the almost bare skin. She surprised him when she covered his hands, and together, they slipped the robe from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

The light spilling in through the windows silhouetted her body beneath the almost transparent cotton of her nightgown and made him long to touch every part of it. One finger hooking the thin strap, he slipped it down her arm, then grazed his fingertips over her gossamer skin.

She shivered.

He watched her for a moment. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. She was so lovely in the moonlight, it was hard to believe she was real, that she was standing there, trembling at his touch. Ravenous for more, he returned to her throat, licking and nipping, careful not to hurt her as he took his pleasure and, hopefully, gave her pleasure in return. The temptation to taste her blood was strong, but he had far more urgent appetites to satisfy this evening. Camille let her head fall back, telling him that she was as eager to be loved as he was to love her, so he explored every inch of skin he could, moving his mouth down to the base of her throat, along her collarbone and downwards, over the soft fabric of her nightgown, to the gentle swell of her breast.

She called out when he took it into his mouth, her fingers pressing into the back of his head. He pulled back momentarily to gaze up at her with a wicked smile before turning his attention to her other breast.

He felt her hands move restlessly over his shoulders and down his sides as he continued to tease her with his tongue. When he felt her tug at his shirt, he straightened to help her pull it over his head and throw it in the general direction of the bed.

Klaus would have returned to what he was doing, but Camille pressed her palms against his chest, pushing back against him just enough to make him glance down at her questioningly. Slowly and with great tenderness, she leaned in to place a tiny kiss just over his heart. _I won't hurt you,_ she seemed to be saying as she looked up at him trustingly, her face flushed with desire. _I promise_.

Her sweet affection triggered something feral in him. He kissed her passionately, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tightly to him until there was no space between their bodies. Her nipples pressing against his chest through the thin fabric was highly erotic, making his need for her almost painful.

Camille responded by sliding her knee up the side of his leg, causing him to gasp into her mouth. He took the opportunity to slip one hand under the hem of her nightgown, gripping her thigh and grinding his hips against hers so that there was no mistaking his intentions. "I want you," he said, rasping out the words. "Now."

With a heaving sigh, she pulled away and took a step back. Uncertain, Klaus stood still, waiting for a cue. Had he frightened her off?

As if she could read his mind, she smiled and shook her head. With a seductive gleam in her eyes that made his senses sing, she leaned forward and whispered into his ear, "Then take me to bed. Now."


	16. The Secrets Of His Heart

**Chapter 16: The Secrets Of His Heart**

"I think not."

Taken off guard for a second, Cami just blinked at him. If not for the statement he'd made barely thirty seconds before and the unmistakable signs that proved he was as aroused as she was, she might have taken this as a rejection. Instead, she watched curiously as Klaus glanced over at his bed, then back at her. "I have a better idea."

He planted a tiny kiss on the tip of her nose, which made her giggle—probably from nervousness—before striding over to the door and closing it. Then he went to his kingsize bed and grabbed the plush gray velvet comforter with both hands. The plump pillows that had been sitting on top of it flew everywhere as he dragged it back over to her, to the patch of floor in front of the windows that was bathed in moonlight.

He spread it out over the floorboards and returned to pick up a few pillows, which he arranged on top of the comforter. "Shall we?" he said, reaching out for her.

Cami had to hand it to him. Klaus was probably the most ridiculously romantic guy she'd ever met. The realization made her giggle again. Not the most sophisticated reaction when in the presence of a very sophisticated man, but she didn't think he was too concerned, the way he was eyeing her like she held the secrets to the universe.

She put her hand in his, and he drew her to him, then curled his arm around her and kissed her under the beam of glowing light.

He seemed to be in no hurry now to get them horizontal, though, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, because he was kissing her as if he had all the time in the world—maddeningly slowly and extremely thoroughly. Dear Lord, the man could kiss, making her breathless as he alternated between soft brushes of the lips that left her lightheaded and toe-curling sweeps with his tongue that fanned the flame deep within her.

She looped her fingers at the back of his head and held on for dear life.

After minutes of this torment, she was desperate for more. Cami broke away so she could nibble at his earlobe, which made him groan, and caress his shoulders. She smoothed her hands over his pectoral muscles, venturing down over his taut stomach to the faint line of hair that disappeared below the fly of his jeans, then back up again, lingering over the illustrated flock of birds that winged their way over the top of his arm to his collarbone. She traced the lines of his tattoo and touched her mouth to the inked skin, stopping only to ask, "Why birds?"

"Hmm?" he mumbled.

"This tattoo…" She paused to place a light kiss on the first of the flock. "Why…" Another quick series of pecks. "…did…you…get it?"

Cami felt him shrug. "I have no idea," he replied in a hoarse voice, his fingers threading through her hair.

"Really?" She raised her eyebrows playfully.

"Really," he repeated. "Right now, I hardly even know my own name."

Cami laughed at the thought that she could reduce the most formidable being in the world to jelly. It made her feel deliciously powerful.

Capitalizing on the feeling, she dragged her hands down his body again, reveling in the feel of the hard contours of his body. When she knelt in front of him, she heard the sharp intake of breath and noted the way his stomach muscles contracted as she unbuckled his belt and slid down the fly on his jeans. She bent to take off his shoes, slipping off one, then the other, and pulled off his socks. His feet were as sexy as the rest of his parts, long and lean. He dug his toes into the velvet comforter as she reached up to grip the waistband of his jeans and pull it down his legs.

The cotton of his boxer briefs outlined very clearly for her how excited he was, causing her own excitement to escalate. She placed a soft kiss on the impressive bulge in front of her, then looped her thumbs under the waistband and dragged his underwear down to meet his jeans, which were in a heap around his ankles. Gently, she lifted each of his calves in turn to remove his remaining clothes. Once he was completely naked in front of her, she skimmed her hands up his legs, kissing her way upwards until she was at eye level with his erection.

Wanting nothing more than to please him in every way possible, Cami gently took him in hand. He hissed in response, making inarticulate noises as she slid her hand up and down his shaft. When she sucked the tip into her mouth, his whole body trembled.

He surprised her by pulling away suddenly and collapsing to his knees, almost knocking her over. Klaus stroked her hair and cradled her face before grasping the sides of her nightgown and lifting it over her head. His gaze, raw and hungry, raked over her, making her shiver again. He repeated her name in a low voice, as if speaking it alone could tell her all the secrets of his heart.

Her heart was beating fast as he coaxed her onto her back and lay on top of her, nuzzling her throat and palming her breast. He planted hot kisses in a trail from her neck down to her navel, dipping his tongue into her belly button before traveling downwards. He hesitated then, fingering the elastic of her panties.

Cami nodded, wriggling her hips to help him shimmy her underwear down over her legs and toss them aside. He kissed his way back up again, from her ankles, up her calves, over her knees to her trembling thighs, making sounds of appreciation that rumbled throughout the room and made every nerve in her body tighten in anticipation.

Each touch, every kiss, seared her skin. She couldn't breathe.

She couldn't bear for him to stop.

Shifting so he could lift one of her knees and hook it over his shoulder, Klaus nipped playfully at the tender skin on the inside of her thigh, moving closer and closer to the part of her that was aching for release. She writhed on their makeshift bed, hoping he'd give her what she needed.

Finally, he did, his hot breath teasing at her core before his mouth closed over the swollen bud. Masterfully, he proceeded to use his tongue in the most creative ways to pleasure her. Each stroke, flick and swirl had her arching her back and gripping handfuls of the comforter. Just when she thought she couldn't take it any longer, she yanked his hair as gently as she could as a sign for him to stop.

He paused to look up at her, his brow wrinkled. "Am I not…pleasing…you?" he asked, sounding disappointed.

"You are," Cami replied as well as she could, with her breaths coming in jerky pants. "Very much. But the first time, I…" She could feel herself blushing and looked away. "I want you inside me," she whispered.

Whatever shyness she felt evaporated when he almost scrambled up her body, obviously eager to oblige. Klaus positioned himself over her, pressing himself against her entrance, and kissed her. "I love you," he murmured.

Caressing his face, feeling the scrape of his stubble against her fingers, Cami breathed, "I love you too."

Then, in one fluid motion, he was inside her.

They both stilled for an instant, gazing into each other's eyes. This was the moment they'd been destined for from the beginning, she knew that now. She could see in his eyes that he knew it too. And it was better than she could ever have dreamed it would be.

He moved slowly at first; she was sure he was careful to measure his strokes by her response. Wanting to let him know she trusted him, that she knew he'd never hurt her, Cami kept his gaze as he began to rock his hips. Knowing he was holding back, she urged him on with kisses and soft endearments. She clung to him, drawing up her knees and pressing her fingertips into his shoulders, then the small of his back and the firm flesh of his ass. He angled himself just right, pleasing her with long, steady strokes that soon had her moaning his name in complete abandon.

As his tongue claimed her mouth possessively, his thrusts grew deeper and more erratic. The feelings he was eliciting from her were echoed back to her; their sounds of pleasure filled the room now. Arching her back one last time, she called out as, finally, the heat that had flared deep inside burst into flame and took Cami over the edge. A few seconds later, Klaus let out a loud groan, his body stiffening and then shaking before he relaxed on top of her. He rested his forehead against her temple, his breath coming in short, sharp pants against her hair.

They stayed that way for a while, content to stay tangled in each other's arms as their breathing slowed and they both grew blissfully drowsy. Eventually, Klaus rolled onto his back, taking her with him so that she was burrowed into his side and his arm was wrapped around her protectively. Cami took his hand and intertwined their fingers. They lay in the moonlight, nuzzling each other's faces and saying absolutely nothing.

And Cami knew that, in spite of her reservations, in spite of their rocky start, she wouldn't trade what she had right now for anything in the world. For all his faults, for all his anger and darkness, Klaus had given her a gift the likes of which she could never have foreseen. He loved her in a way that was pure and true and unwavering.

It scared her.

It _terrified_ her.

It made her smile as she gradually fell asleep in his arms, feeling at home and at peace.


	17. A Little Me Time

**Chapter 17: A Little Me Time**

 _A month later_

Dappled early morning sunlight danced over the sheets that covered the two bodies on the bed. Klaus watched the changing patterns for a moment before he shifted slightly—not enough to wake the figure draped across him, but just enough to ease his stiffened limbs. It seemed ironic that even the undead could lose the circulation in their arms after a while. Even more ironic that, as powerful and ruthless as he seemed to the rest of the world, he didn't dare to move in case he disturbed the very human woman in his arms.

So he lay still as she slept, one knee hoisted over his thigh, her face burrowed in the crook of his shoulder, her soft breaths tickling his skin. He smiled and planted a gentle kiss on the top of her head. The lime scent of her hair called to mind leisurely afternoons spent exploring each other's mind and the musky jasmine of her perfume long nights spent exploring each other's body.

 _This is what happiness feels like._

After a thousand years, he'd almost forgotten such an emotion existed except when he was with his daughter. Did he even believe it was possible to find happiness in love? He'd lost too much, ruined any chance he had of _deserving_ it to trust his instincts. But if forgetting that anger and sorrow existed when you were with a particular person equalled happiness, then Camille definitely made him happy.

It had been a month since she'd awakened from the sleeping spell, and they'd spent the last thirty days and nights almost entirely in each other's company as she stayed at the compound and they prepared for Christmas. She'd seen him at his best, and she'd seen him at his worst—and even that wasn't enough to send her running.

This time he wasn't going to run either.

For the first time in a very long time, he thought maybe he had a chance to build something lasting. He didn't know why she had chosen him, but he was thankful that she seemed to love him a lot more than he deserved. And he loved her more than he could express in mere words. Loved her more than he remembered loving anyone outside of his family. He loved her in a way that he didn't think possible for someone as selfish and damaged as he was. Perhaps he'd never really known what love was until he met Camille.

He'd been in love before, many times—or thought he had. But when he looked back at the women who had come in and out of his life, he realized what they represented. A challenge, a dream of how things should be, a memory of days long gone. True happiness had always been just out of reach, because he could never give of himself completely. He'd never known how. He'd always held back a part of himself, for fear of being judged or abandoned or betrayed.

Camille had shown him that he could be loved for who he was and who he could be, that he didn't need to be afraid. That if he dared to love and let himself be loved the way he wanted to be, that he would be rewarded a hundred times over.

She stirred in his arms, her breasts brushing against his ribs and arousing his appetite. He traced a line with his palm down the soft curve of her back, and she sighed and slid the leg that was resting on his further up his thigh.

When she was getting close enough to knee him where he would feel it most, he flinched instinctively and said, "Careful, love. Any higher, and you'll completely ruin the mood."

Camille opened one eye slowly and squinted at him through it. "Uh-uh. There is no mood. I've had like one hour's sleep."

He grinned. "Which is entirely your own fault."

"My fault?" Cami shifted away from him and lay back on her pillow. She looked adorably sleepy still, but he knew she was alert now. She had that glint in her eye, the one that told him _I don't believe a word you're saying, but at least you're an entertaining liar._

"Well," he said, "you can hardly blame me for keeping you up all night. How can I resist such beauty?" He leaned over her until their faces were an inch apart. "Such an enticing…" Gently, he touched his nose to hers. "…intoxicating…" Without moving, he pressed his lips against her mouth. "…bewitching…" Another kiss. "…bed partner?"

She rolled her eyes, but smiled and curled one hand in his hair. "Charmer," she said.

"After a thousand years," he replied, "a man learns a thing or two about how to please a woman."

She patted his shoulder. "I'll be the judge of that."

Klaus rolled back onto his side of the bed and looked at her with an expression of mock outrage. "You're not questioning my sexual prowess, I hope. I haven't had any complaints so far. And believe me, there have been many opportunities for complaint."

Camille wrinkled her nose. "And I hope you know it's not the smartest move to bring up all the women you've slept with at _this_ particular moment. I went through the very long laundry list when you were telling me your life story. I don't need to be reminded of it when we're lying naked in bed together."

He winced, remembering the stories he'd told her about his past. He was ashamed now of the pride he'd taken in detailing his sexual conquests of days long gone. How he'd taken married women under the very noses of their husbands, initiated blushing virgins into the pleasures of the flesh, participated in ménages and orgies and every kind of decadence you could think of. The fact that his past exploits—most of which had meant nothing to him—might prey on her mind hadn't occurred to him.

"Camille," he said, hoping he could adequately convey his sincerity, "I've lived a long time, and over that time, yes, I've been with other women. But I swear to you that when I close my eyes, I see only you. There is no woman on earth, past or present, who compares to you. I love you with all my heart, and I will never stop loving you as long as you allow me the privilege of doing so."

She sighed and nestled herself into his side, burying her face in his shoulder. "You _are_ a charmer," she said softly.

He stroked her hair. "Just a hopeless romantic."

She gazed up at him and caressed his cheek. "Not hopeless anymore."

"Not hopeless anymore," he repeated and kissed her tenderly.

He made love to her then, slowly, determined to prove with his actions the adoration he felt for her, body and soul.

So it wasn't until mid-morning that they reluctantly got out of bed. After showering and dressing quickly, they ventured downstairs to where Elijah was sitting at a table in the courtyard, reading a newspaper.

"Good morning," he said without looking up at them. "I trust you both slept well."

"Not a wink," Klaus replied. "As I'm sure you already knew."

Camille frowned at him. "Klaus, must you?"

"There's no need to be coy about it. Elijah's a grown-up. I think he knows what we're doing upstairs all night. Every night."

Cami whacked him on the shoulder.

Elijah slowly folded his newspaper. "Camille, I wish to apologize for my brother," he said pompously. "I meant to extend a simple morning greeting, and my tactless sibling used it to embarrass you, thinking it would make _me_ uncomfortable. The only excuse I can offer is that he is clearly so smitten with you that he has lost all reason."

"That's okay, Elijah, I understand," Camille said with a smile. Turning to Klaus, she added, " _You_ are still in the doghouse."

Klaus sank into the chair next to Elijah's. "Why am I not surprised? Do let me know when the two of you are finished enjoying your little moment of solidarity. I'll be over here, not saying a word."

"Imagine…my brother not saying a word. I shall savor this momentous occasion. In the meantime, Camille, may I ask what you have planned for the rest of the day? Or do I even need to speculate, given you prefer to spend your time, shall we say, indoors?"

Klaus checked to see if she was offended by his brother's remark. _Of course not_. Elijah was the one who could do no wrong. "Bloody favoritism," Klaus mumbled to himself.

Cami took a seat opposite him. "Yes, um…my plans. That's what I wanted to talk to the two of you about." She appeared to hesitate, glancing at both brothers nervously. "I want to go home."

"No," Klaus said immediately.

"Just hear me out."

"No. It's impossible. It's not safe. Lucien is still at large."

"Freya said Lucien is halfway around the world."

"Yes, sunning himself on a beach in the Maldives. But he could return at any time."

"Freya is monitoring the situation," Elijah said. "We will know the second he leaves his current location. That will give us plenty of time to be prepared."

Klaus ignored his brother. "What do you need to go home for anyway?" he asked Camille.

"I have a career I'm trying to get off the ground, Klaus," she said. "I have bills to pay, errands to do. Neighbors who probably think I'm dead. I haven't done a shift at Rousseau's in forever. I need to earn some money."

Was that all? "You needn't worry about money. I will take care of your every need. I promise you I shan't let you want for anything."

"I don't want you to take care of my every need." She sighed loudly. "Look…" She eyed Elijah nervously, then said in a small voice, "I love you, okay? But I have a life outside of you. I just want a little me time."

Klaus clamped his lips together. _A little me time_? Was she tiring of him already?

"This is not your decision to make, Niklaus," Elijah put in. "We must consider Camille's wishes. We cannot force her to stay here if she does not desire to do so."

"Well, aren't you full of insight this morning, Elijah?" Klaus snapped. "Fine. Do as you both wish. Camille knows I'm only trying to protect her." He stood and started to walk off, only stopping when he heard the plaintive, "Hey," from behind him. He turned to see a mixture of hurt and uncertainty in Cami's eyes as she got up.

She walked over to him and wrapped her hands around his neck, forcing him to look at her. "I want to be with you. I do. You know that. You know me. I'm not questioning us or regretting our time together. I'm not having second thoughts. Okay? But I have responsibilities, Klaus. I have things I have to do. Things I want to do. There's room for those things _and_ you in my life." She dropped her hands, and he recognized the moment she went into therapist mode. Her stance was confident, her expression neutral. "And you cannot walk away from me every time we disagree on something. We're going to have differences of opinion, and sometimes we'll argue, but that's normal. It's okay. I know you find it difficult to deal with the things you can't control, but retreating isn't going to make the problem go away. If you want to have a real relationship with me, then we both have to work at it. We need to talk to each other. Negotiate."

Klaus listened to her in silence. Camille was right, of course. It was his stupid insecurities plaguing him, making him act like a petulant child having a tantrum and walking out on her when he couldn't get his way. If he did want a long-term relationship—something he hadn't been able to manage successfully in the past—then he had to do better. He _would_ do better.

"You know," he said, "there are times I wish you weren't quite so perceptive." He gave her a tentative grin, hoping she'd understand it was his way of making an apology. "How am I ever supposed to win an argument against a woman who knows all my tricks?"

Her mouth softened into a smile. "The sooner you learn you're not supposed to argue with me at all, the better off you'll be. In fact, all you have to remember is that your only job is to keep me happy."

"Really?" Klaus replied. "Sort of like _happy wife, happy life_?"

Camille let out a huff of laughter that was clearly laced with embarrassment. Which amused Klaus, because she was the one who only a moment ago had been talking about being in a relationship.

"Something like that," she said. "Come over to my apartment tonight, and I'll cook you dinner. We can watch an old movie on TV, and we'll be completely and utterly _alone._ " She quickly glanced at Elijah, who for once looked sheepish, then back at him. "What do you say?"

He liked the idea of spending a private evening with Camille, enjoying the simple pleasures of life. But he wasn't sure if her idea of a home-cooked dinner would be one of them. He'd tasted her efforts before, and even his iron constitution had trouble digesting what she produced. "I have a better idea," he said. "Let me have something delivered from your favorite restaurant."

She narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

"Because I don't want you working your fingers to the bone," he said, improvising quickly.

"Huh. You sure it's not because you don't trust my cooking?"

"Of course not," he replied—probably too quickly to be convincing.

Her eyes bored into him. "Do not lie to me. I can tell by your face."

"Oh, very well. The truth is I've learned to appreciate your grilled cheese sandwiches, but I've had them quite a bit lately." He rubbed his stomach. "I think I may be becoming lactose intolerant."

"Poor baby," she said sarcastically. "I'd never forgive myself if I was responsible for creating the first lactose intolerant vampire in all of history." Slowly, she drew her hands into fists and planted them on her hips. "Cut the crap. And what makes you think that's the only thing I can cook?"

"Because the last time you tried to make something that did not involve bread or cheese, you almost blew up my kitchen. I don't know which reminded me more of Chernobyl, the walls or the concoction you put on the plate."

The words were barely out of his mouth before he realized three things. One, he was the only one who appreciated his witty remark; two, even though she herself had joked about her lack of skill in the kitchen, apparently he wasn't allowed to do the same thing; and three, he'd forgotten how scary a furious human woman could be.

She marched to the door, swiveled and yelled at him. "Seven p.m. You'll eat what you're given, even if it's monkeys' balls dipped in camel pee and regurgitated by a…" She paused, still so angry her arms were flailing around. "I don't know. Just imagine something gross! You'll eat it and you'll like it. And you'll say thank you!" He heard her muttering something about ungrateful assholes as she disappeared out the front door.

" _Happy wife, happy life_ indeed." When he turned to Elijah, his brother was chuckling softly. "Do try not to destroy your relationship over a gastronomic disagreement, Niklaus, even if it does involve testicles, which, by the way, I have consumed in more than one exotic locale during my travels. The wholesale slaughter of your taste buds is a small enough sacrifice to make for a woman such as Camille."

"What do you suggest I do to fix this then, big brother?" Klaus asked. "Besides pretending to enjoy whatever catastrophe she serves up on a plate?"

"Keeping your mouth closed would be my first suggestion," Elijah replied. "And groveling. Lots and lots of groveling."


	18. Blind Spot

**Chapter 18: Blind Spot**

Insult her cooking, would he?

 _Thwomp_.

She'd show him.

 _Whack_.

He'd never joke about her culinary skills again after tonight. Not after she presented him with a mouth-watering filet mignon and made him eat his goddamn words.

 _Thunk_.

Cami looked down at the piece of meat she'd been taking out her frustrations on. It now looked less _cordon bleu_ and more road kill. In her anger at Klaus' reaction to her generous offer, she'd forgotten what she was doing, and the steak had been pummeled beyond recognition. The raw lump of flesh was now dented and misshapen, and even an inexperienced, inept cook like her could see that it didn't look very appetizing.

She sighed. Steak and salad had _seemed_ easy enough, even for somebody who couldn't make toast without burning it. She had bought the most expensive cuts of meat she could find, she'd brought home five million ingredients for the salad—some of which she'd never even heard of before—and she'd followed the recipe word for word.

That is, she had tried to follow the recipe. _Use a meat_ _tenderizer to prepare the steak,_ it said. When she'd googled the term, it had shown her pictures of what looked like a medieval torture device. She had worked out that it was a lightweight mallet that you used to pound the meat, but of course she didn't have anything that looked like one of those in her kitchen. The best she could come up with was a rolling pin her mother had given her—Cami still didn't know why—when she left home for college.

It wasn't even a hefty traditional style rolling pin, it was a slim cylinder of wood that weighed a few ounces. What she was supposed to roll with it, Cami had no idea. She doubted her mother did either since Lisette O'Connell was not exactly renowned for her cooking. It had been sitting in a drawer gathering dust until this afternoon, when Cami decided it was just the thing to turn a thirty dollar steak into a stringy mess with more holes than actual meat.

But she would have to make the best of it. It was too late to return to the store, particularly with the Christmas crowds making everything take twice as long, and she had things to chop for her salad. If Klaus dared to laugh at her efforts, she would take her fancy rolling pin and stake him through the heart with it.

Except she knew that wasn't true. He'd flash that lopsided grin at her, and she'd forgive him, because she was a sucker for that grin. She was a sucker for him in general.

Desire heated her body at the thought of seeing him again. Even though they had only been apart for a few hours, she couldn't wait. Cami knew they were in the honeymoon phase of their relationship, and everything was new and exciting, but she was happier than she had been in a long time. In theory, Klaus was the last person she should've chosen as a partner, but apart from his need to control his surroundings and annoy his siblings—and put his foot in his mouth once in a while—he was surprisingly easy to be around. Maybe that was because it turned out they were surprisingly compatible, both in and out of the bedroom. Cami smiled to herself as she diced a pepper. As a lover, Klaus was generous and affectionate, and always in the mood. Thankfully, they wouldn't have to retire to his room tonight in order to be alone. She looked forward to some after-dinner loving—in her bed, on the couch, maybe all over the kitchen counters.

In fact, if she was lucky, they'd forget the damn steaks altogether and he'd devour her instead.

A knock at the door startled her out of her daydream. Surely he wasn't here already?

Cami looked at the time on her phone. Klaus wasn't due to arrive for another hour—an hour she'd planned to use to get ready for her date. But it wasn't likely to be anybody else. She'd checked in with her boss at Rousseau's, she had visited her landlord and the neighbors she knew best, and her friends all thought she was still at the compound.

Cami went to the door. "If you're here to apologize, forget it," she said as she opened it. "You have to give a girl time to—"

The sentence hung in the air, unfinished.

Lucien was on the other side of the doorframe, smirking. "Ah, you're home, Camille. How fortunate for me Nik has finally let you out of his sight for once. I've been dying to catch up."

Such innocent words, yet the threat behind them was crystal clear. She stared at him, her heart accelerating. She could tell he could hear it, because his smirk broadened.

"Lucien," she said. "You're supposed to be—"

"In the Maldives? I hear it's lovely there this time of year. Yes…about that." He wrinkled his nose and twisted his mouth as if he was a child making an apology. "I know it must be a surprise to see me on your doorstep. The thing is, the Mikaelsons aren't the only ones who have a very powerful witch at their disposal. It's amazing how you can appear to be in one place when you're really in another."

The thought that he had been in town the entire time, watching and waiting for his chance, made her stomach clench. "What do you want?" she said with more bravado than she felt.

"Perhaps I want to see how you are," he said. "We parted under less than ideal circumstances."

"You abducted me, threatened me and almost bled Will to death. Then you left me with your burly babysitter, who would've killed me if I hadn't escaped. And you led Aurora straight to me. Yes, I guess you could say the circumstances were less than ideal."

"But you rose to the occasion, Camille. I admire your pluckiness, I really do. It's one of the reasons I like you. You're so _feisty_." He said the last word with an almost lecherous quality.

She rolled her eyes, even though she knew he could sense her fear.

He took a step closer. "And what is so…adorable…about you is that you have no idea what I could do to you. What horrors I could inflict on you. " Eye to eye with her, he added quietly, "If there weren't this barrier between us."

Cami raised her chin. She willed herself not to let him intimidate her. He couldn't get in without her consent, and she wouldn't give it. "But there is. So your threats are meaningless, Lucien."

"Mmm, I suppose you're right," he replied. "In order to get in, I'd have to find out who owns this apartment. I'd have to pay that person a visit and persuade them to change the lease. Or I could just kill them." He smiled slowly. "I suppose it would depend upon whether I took a liking to them or not. Unfortunately for Stan in 3C, he's a rather irascible old codger, isn't he? Or rather…was."

"No!" Cami called out. At the same time, she felt a breeze stir, and the next thing she knew, Lucien was in front of her, gripping her by the hair.

"It never fails to surprise me," he said as he yanked her over to her couch, her scalp screaming with every step, "how stupidly arrogant humans are. Did you really think you could stop me from getting into your apartment? Do you really think you can stop me from doing whatever I want?" He pushed her down onto the seat. "But I didn't come here to prove a point. I have more pressing matters to concern myself with. It's time we had a talk, Camille."

Cami tried not to give in to her instinct to run. The combination of fear, pain and adrenaline running through her system was making her nauseous, but she knew she had to keep her cool. The only chance she had to survive was to talk Lucien down, or at least stall him until Klaus could get there.

"Okay, if you want to talk, we'll talk, " she said as calmly as she could. "What would you like to talk about?"

Lucien lowered himself onto the couch opposite her. He made a great show of leaning back, propping his elbows on the backrest and putting his feet up on the coffee table. "I would've thought that was obvious. I want to talk about our mutual friend."

"Klaus."

Lucien laughed mockingly. "I hope people don't pay you just to state the bleeding obvious. Of course Klaus."

Cami nodded. "And what do you want to say about Klaus?"

"What do I want to say? How about we start with: Klaus is a monster who lures people into his life and destroys theirs. How about we start with that?"

"I see." Cami mirrored what Lucien had done, leaning back and facing her body towards him—using the action to slow things down and de-escalate the situation. "You feel that he's done that to you? Destroyed your life?"

"Mine, yours…Aurora's. Tristan's. Marcel's. Take your pick."

"I don't think you really came here to talk about Tristan or Marcel," Cami said. "You want to talk about what happened to you. You want me to understand how you feel."

"I don't care if you understand my feelings, Camille," he replied. "You're in love with him. Why would you take my side?"

From his tone, like a whiny child wanting comfort, Cami knew he did indeed want her understanding. She decided to take a gamble and prod a little further. "I think you do need someone to understand you, and that's why you came here, came to me. You think if I can see things from your perspective, your actions will be validated. You want me to reassure you that it's okay to hurt people because you yourself have been hurt."

Something dark flashed in Lucien's eyes, and Cami wasn't sure whether she'd poked the hornet's nest too hard and was about to get stung.

"Don't try to psychoanalyze me, Camille, and don't judge me. I have a right to hate him. I have a right to want him to suffer for what he did to me."

"Because you believe he stole your life."

"He did steal my life!" Lucien sat forward, dragging his feet off her table with a thud, and Cami's heart skipped a beat. "Nik took everything from me—the girl I loved, my home, my identity. I became someone different, someone…"

When he paused, Cami knew she was taking the right approach. Clearly he had come here to use her as a way to get to Klaus, but Cami sensed that he also needed to tell somebody his story. She was taking risks to get him to continue talking, but if she didn't try _something_ , she didn't stand a chance. It didn't really matter if he was ranting or calm; the more she prodded him to reveal his feelings, the longer she kept him absorbed in his thoughts, the more likely it was that Klaus would arrive in time. "Someone you didn't expect to be?" she prompted softly. "Someone you didn't like?"

He failed to answer for a long time. Then the smirk was back on his face. "Someone better."

Crossing her legs, Cami relaxed a little. "I'm not sure about that."

"Really? I'm richer, smarter, more successful. I take what I want. I'm not the gullible boy I once was."

"All those things may be true, but I don't think _you_ believe that you're someone better," Cami replied. "I think you have an inferiority complex that makes you overcompensate for all the qualities you think you lack. You accumulate wealth and power, but it's not really about being respected or even envied. You want Klaus to see you as an equal even though you secretly fear you're still that naïve stableboy others looked down upon. You wanted to impress Aurora, thinking that if you became powerful enough, she would finally see your worth."

Lucien looked surprised. "My goodness, Camille. You are bold, I'll grant you that. Do you talk to your boyfriend like this? I can't imagine how Nik has had the patience not to tear your throat out. But seeing how you've been so frank with your opinions, I'll be frank with you in return. In fact, I'll let you in on a little secret about my life. You're wrong about why I worked for hundreds of years to amass so much wealth and power. I didn't do it to impress people. I did it so that I could find a way to destroy the Mikaelsons."

"And have you found a way to destroy them?" Cami asked with a calm she didn't feel.

Lucien sighed. "Alas," he said, "it has taken a little longer than I expected to get what I need to bring them down. In the meantime, I've found another way to get my revenge, at least on Nik. It's been staring me in the face all along."

Something heavy lodged itself in the pit of Cami's stomach. "Through me, you mean."

Lucien made a sympathetic clucking noise. "Yes, I'm afraid so. It was either you or his daughter, and Hope is far too unpredictable for me to risk trying to use her against him. You, on the other hand, are merely human and almost completely helpless. I am sorry to embroil you in all this mess, but I have no choice when you, my dear, are the best weapon I can use against him. You're his weakness, his blind spot. And it's ironic, really. Nik was the one who taught me the most effective way to destroy a man is through his heart. You have to admit there is something poetic about the whole idea."

Cami tried to swallow, but her throat seized up. "You're going to kill me then," she croaked.

"Camille," he said, sounding as if she'd wounded him. He got up and came over to her, making her heart thump erratically as he stood over her with a menacing smile on his face.

If Klaus didn't get here soon, it would be too late. Cami felt her body go rigid as she realized she was about to face her own mortality.

Lucien settled onto the couch next to her, causing her to flinch. "Cami, after all we've been through together, you think I came here to kill you? I admit I may have threatened you a little. After all, it's so much fun to watch you pretend you're not terrified out of your wits. But the truth is I don't want to hurt you, not really. On the contrary." He placed his hand over hers and squeezed it. "I intend to _save_ you."


	19. Tomatoes, Tomahtoes

**Chapter 19: Tomatoes, Tomahtoes**

The fragrance of a rose was a thing of beauty, but Klaus decided after carrying fifty of them to Cami's apartment that perhaps you could have too much of a good thing.

He should probably have listened to his instincts in the first place. He'd spent a good forty minutes at the flower stall, staring at the array of blooms—all shapes, sizes and colors—and trying to decide what she would like best. The florist had talked him out of his first choice, which was a sheath of assorted flowers in soft shades of pink, blue and cream. She'd convinced him that no woman could resist a dozen long-stemmed red roses, and being an insecure idiot who couldn't bear for the woman he loved to be mad at him, he had panicked and bought not one dozen or even two, but enough to fill a garden. By the time he got them to their destination, he could barely tolerate the stink any longer.

He supposed it was a small price to pay for making sure that his first real date with Camille—if that was what this evening was—was a success.

Remembering this time not to let himself in via Cami's balcony, Klaus made his way through the building to the hallway outside her apartment.

Halfway down the corridor, he noticed the door was wide open. He knew she was lax about locking her balcony door occasionally, but it wasn't like her to leave her front door open.

Cautiously, he took the few remaining steps into the apartment and turned left into the living area next to the kitchen.

Klaus dropped the flowers. Directly in front of him, Lucien was sitting next to Camille on the couch. A cold fear shivered its way down his spine as he took in the scene—his worst fear coming true.

Why had he let his guard down? Why had he let himself be convinced it was safe to allow her to leave his sight?

Lucien cocked his head. "Ah, Nik's here, finally. Come in, old friend." He wrapped an arm around Cami's shoulder and pulled her closer to him. "Come and sit with us."

Klaus calculated what he should do, deciding after a few seconds' deliberation that there was no way he could rush Lucien before the bastard had a chance to hurt her, so he walked slowly to the chair in front of where they were sitting. "I see the snake has slithered back to town," he said.

"I never left, Nik. I've been waiting for an opportunity to poke my head in and say hello. You two have been _so_ busy this last month."

Camille glanced over at Klaus as he took a seat, her eyes wide and her body rigid. Klaus wanted to rip his former friend's limbs apart for terrorizing her, but all he could do was say, "It will be all right, I promise."

"Aww," Lucien said mockingly, "how touching. Klaus the protector to the rescue. Except you're over there…" He pointed to Klaus. "…and she's over here. With me." He rubbed Cami's arm up and down. "Cosy, isn't it?"

"Go to hell," she said between gritted teeth.

Klaus clenched his fists. "What are you doing here, Lucien? What do you want?"

"It's Christmas, Nik. Maybe I wanted to drop in on an old friend and his new lady love." Lucien gave Cami a hug. "You are his new lady love, aren't you? You think he loves you? That he'll be faithful and devoted? Hmm?"

"What's your point?" Klaus growled.

"Well, I don't want to take the gloss off your new romance, Nik, but I do think it odd that you're vowing undying love to our lovely Camille here when only…what was it…six weeks ago you were doing the same thing with Aurora." Lucien pressed his cheek to Camille's as he gave her arm another squeeze. "At least I imagine that's what he told her while he was fucking her brains out."

"Stop it!" Klaus demanded.

Lucien slid his arm from her shoulder to rest the pads of his fingers at the back of Cami's neck. "Oh, don't be like that. Camille's a big girl. She knows you've been busy getting reacquainted with your old girlfriend. But I'm sure she's been wondering, as I have, when you suddenly decided you didn't want Aurora anymore."

Klaus looked into Cami's eyes, willing her to understand. "She was my first real love. To see her again after so long…"

"You don't owe me or anyone else an explanation," she replied. "We weren't together then."

"But I want to explain. After the way she and I parted all those years ago, I hadn't had a chance to fully resolve my feelings for Aurora."

"These feelings, Nik," Lucien said. "I suppose they were resolved when you killed her? When you ripped Aurora's heart from her chest?"

"No, they were resolved when she betrayed my family and hurt people I care about."

"Betrayal." Lucien whistled, the sound echoing eerily in the quiet room. "That is a serious offense. I suppose it does make one homicidal, doesn't it?"

"Get to the point," Klaus muttered. "Your heavy-handed attempt at drawing parallels between you and me is tedious beyond words."

"Then let's do something to make things more exciting for you." Lucien curled his fingers around Cami's neck. "Let's talk about the woman you killed Aurora for…the charming, enchanting Camille."

Narrowing his eyes, Klaus leaned forward. "Move your fingers even a fraction of an inch, and I'll end you before you can squeak out a protest."

"Always so anxious to save your precious human, aren't you, Nik? You'll do anything, it seems. You certainly went to extreme lengths to save her from the sleeping curse, didn't you?"

Klaus yawned. "I'm sorry. You were saying?"

"You made a promise to The Ancestors when you begged for Cami's life. Foolishly, you haven't kept your promise, even though they spared her. They want you to pay for that, and I'm here to make that happen." Klaus tensed, and Lucien added, "Have I got your attention now?"

"What are you talking about?" Klaus sat up straight. "How do you know about that?"

"I know a lot of things. Unlike you, I pay attention. I do my homework. I build alliances instead of destroying them. The Ancestors have sworn to help me, and I'm going to help them. I'm going to make sure that you keep your promise."

"Klaus?" Cami sat stiffly, Lucien's fingers still wrapped around the base of her neck, but her eyes revealed more curiosity and puzzlement than fear. "What does he mean?"

Klaus tried to smile. "It's nothing."

"Let me explain it for you, Camille," Lucien said, giving her neck a jiggle. "When you were asleep, Nik pleaded for you to be brought back to the land of the living. He vowed he would do whatever it took in order to save you. He vowed he would keep you safe. He promised he'd give you up, let you go, if that was what it took." With his free hand, Lucien smoothed back the hair from Cami's face. "How unfortunate for you that he seems to have forgotten that promise."

"So you're here to remind me, are you, old friend?" Klaus asked. "To demonstrate the danger I put Camille in because of my enemies?"

Lucien pouted. "Niklaus, I'm hurt that you're implying _I_ am an enemy. I can assure you, old friend, I'm only here to tell you what you're going to do to put things right."

"That's a lie," Cami said. "He told me he wants to destroy the Mikaelsons. And he thinks he's going to get to you through me."

Lucien sighed. "Tomatoes, tomahtoes. Don't be so pedantic, Camille. The point is, Klaus is going to do what I say."

"I doubt that," Klaus said with a laugh, although he was ready to strike as soon as he sensed Lucien was about to make a move.

"We'll see." Lucien took his hand off Camille's neck and leaned back. "Cami, what do you want for Christmas?"

Klaus noticed the change in her immediately. Her brow creased as she seemingly tried to find an answer to the question. Then she stood and walked over to the small kitchen area. She studied the cutting board that was sitting on one of the benches for a moment before picking up a large knife that lay next to it.

Uneasy, Klaus stood and asked her, "What are you doing?"

Cami blinked and shook her head. "I don't know." She held up one hand and raised the knife in the other. "I can't seem to stop myself." Slowly, she drew the knife close to her wrist. "Klaus?"

He could hear the panic in her voice and realized she was acting under compulsion. "Lucien! Stop this, or I will stop it for you."

"You can't," Lucien said. "It would take you at least a tenth of a second to reach her, and in that time she will have sliced herself open." The knife hovered just above the delicate skin. "There are two arteries she could cut," he added. "The ulnar and the radial. Severing either would make a terrible mess in the kitchen."

"For God's sake, Lucien, please!"

Lucien gave a shrug. "Very well. Happy New Year, Camille!"

Immediately, Cami lowered the knife and let it fall from her hand. It clattered onto the floor as Klaus sped over to her.

"Are you all right?" he said as he cupped her face in his hands.

She nodded.

He could hear her heart pounding. He put a shaky arm around her shoulders before turning to face Lucien. "You bastard. You compelled her."

"Bingo," Lucien replied with a smirk.

"But how?" Cami asked. "I went back on vervain as soon as I woke up."

"Except you weren't actually taking vervain, my dear. You can blame Nik for that as well. He's the one who keeps other vulnerable humans around as walking blood bags. I didn't even have to enter the compound to make the switch."

"So what's the point of this stunt, Lucien?" Klaus said. "To coerce me into doing what you want?"

"This is not a stunt," Lucien snarled. "I told you that I'm here to make sure you put things right."

"Then save us the melodrama and tell me what you expect me to do to _put things right_."

"Finally, you're taking me seriously." Lucien stretched out his legs. "It's quite simple, really. You're going to do what you should've done in the first place, what you promised to do." With a theatrical flourish, Lucien interlocked his hands behind his head and sneered up at Klaus. "You're going to give up your sweet Cami. Forever."


	20. Just Beyond Your Reach

**Chapter 20: Just Beyond Your Reach**

"Like hell I will."

"Oh, you will," Lucien said. "In fact, you're going to compel her to forget you ever existed."

Klaus walked back over to where Lucien was sprawled on the couch. "The only one who'll be forgotten is _you_ after I snuff out your miserable life and send you to the oblivion reserved for the unremarkable and mediocre."

Lucien's smile faltered for a second before he recovered his composure. "Let me remind you of something. Unlike an Original's, my compulsion won't be erased by my death. If you kill me, you won't find out what will happen to your mortal girlfriend if you don't do as I say—until it's too late."

"You're bluffing. "

"After what you've just seen, you want to wager Cami's life on that?" Lucien asked. "You really are an arrogant prick, aren't you?"

"You're the arrogant one if you think you're going to leave here in one piece."

"I don't know that Lucien cares," Cami said quietly. "Maybe he wants to die."

Lucien rolled his eyes. "I'm not a martyr, Camille. As a matter of fact, I've taken out a life insurance policy, in a manner of speaking. They should be here any minute now. Their names are Athena and Diana, and they've been lent to me by my good friends, The Ancestors, to make sure I do leave here in one piece."

"You said you've lost everything that matters, Lucien." Cami looked him in the eye fearlessly. "And you know Klaus will hunt you down until he kills you. What will you get out of doing this?"

"Sweet retribution!" Lucien gestured at Klaus. "The chance to watch him suffer as much as I have!"

"So you're jealous because I had what you wanted," Klaus said. "Power. Respect. Aurora in my bed—"

"Shut up!" Lucien yelled as he stood abruptly. "You're going to regret what you've done to me. I'm going to take away one of the few people you actually care about and you won't be able to do a thing about it."

"Is that so?"

"The plan has already been set in motion," Lucien replied. "If you do not erase yourself from Cami's consciousness before midnight, you'll be signing her death warrant. I've compelled her to kill herself when she hears a certain phrase. Actually, it could be any one of a number of phrases. I don't even remember them all myself. You won't be able to predict when this will happen or what will trigger her. You won't know how she's going to do it. All you'll know is that it could take effect any time after twelve."

Hearing the details of Lucien's plan made Klaus' stomach churn, but he tried to hide his fear under a veneer of contempt. He began doing a slow clap. "Really, Lucien, you're losing your touch. You expect me to believe that instead of simply doing the job yourself, you chose to set up this elaborate plan that could go wrong in a thousand ways? Even you are not that big a fool."

Lucien didn't react. "Knowing that you'll be the one to send Camille away is the most satisfying part, old friend. And it may be risky, but I know you. I know you'll bluster and threaten me, but in the end you'll do what needs to be done." Raising one finger, he added, "Oh, and another thing. Don't bother calling one of your witch friends to help. The Ancestors have a way of dealing with traitors, and I don't think Camille wants to see Davina or Vincent hemorrhage to death before her very eyes."

"How convenient, then, that my sister doesn't belong to a New Orleans coven."

"It's also convenient that The Ancestors and The Spirits have a treaty in place for this sort of problem. No witch will survive an attempt to undo the compulsion. I'm afraid the options are limited. Force Cami to forget, or she kills herself."

"You think I won't ensure it doesn't happen?" Klaus yelled at his former friend. "I won't let her do it."

"Oh, Nik," Lucien said. "How like you to try and control all the variables. But think about it. She won't be able to go to work. She won't be able to socialize. She won't be able to watch the news, go to a movie, have a simple conversation with anyone. You'll have to have Cami watched twenty-four seven. Not a moment to herself. She won't even be able to go to the bathroom alone in case she overhears something on the way. How long do you think she'd stand for that?"

With a feeling of dread, Klaus looked over at Camille. Her face was white, but she stuck out her jaw bravely. "We don't have to fight it, Klaus. We can let it happen. I'll die with your blood in my system."

"What _won't_ you two do for each other?" Lucien put a hand over his heart. "Such a noble sacrifice you're prepared to make, Camille, but not very practical. I don't think even the all-powerful Klaus Mikaelson can make sure you have vampire blood in your system every minute of every day for possibly the rest of your life."

"Then we'll do it now," she said, her eyes pleading with Klaus. "Kill me before midnight."

"Yes, this is an excellent time to make such a life-altering decision," Lucien said. "Nik knows I'm right, don't you? Immortality might sound delightful, but trust me, Camille, it's no bed of roses. This is not the sort of thing you do because you don't want to say bye-bye to your new boyfriend." He turned to Klaus. "Just admit you're outsmarted and get on with it."

Klaus stood over Lucien intimidatingly. "What guarantees do I have that even if I do what you say, your compulsion won't take effect anyway? What's to stop me from just killing you and taking our chances?"

"The beauty of my plan is that you don't have any guarantees. However, I'm not a complete bastard, Nik. I know you won't believe me, but I'm actually doing your precious girlfriend a favor. The Ancestors wanted to put Cami back to sleep. I was the one who convinced them that this way was better. The one woman who understands and loves you, the one you feel a true connection with, slipping from your grasp, just beyond your reach. Going on with her life without you. How truly tragic for you, Nik, to find happiness for once in your miserable existence and then have it snatched away. Who will you tell your deep, dark secrets to? Where will you find another woman to love you in spite of them?"

Klaus felt as though he'd been punched in the gut. At the same time as his mind flitted over every possible course of action, he realized on a visceral level that there was nothing he could do without risking everything.

Turning away from Lucien, Klaus stared into Cami's eyes. He didn't know how to tell her.

But he didn't have to say a word. He could tell by the tense set of her mouth that she knew instinctively what he was thinking. "Don't listen to him, Klaus," Camille said. "You don't have to do this."

"But I do," he replied. "I can't take the chance."

"This isn't just your decision to make."

"Your well-being is the most important thing to me," he told her. "I love you too much to risk your life again."

There were tears in her eyes now. "Please don't send me away."

"What choice do I have?"

Lucien slapped a hand against his thigh and let out a hoot of laughter, making both Klaus and Cami jump. "You should see your faces. Neither of you were expecting this, were you? You're so convinced of your omnipotence, Nik, that you're almost begging for someone to take you down a peg or two. And you, Cami, well, you have such a tragically misguided belief in Nik, it almost makes me sorry to do this." He smiled, baring his teeth. "Almost, but not quite."

Klaus let out a feral roar and lunged at him, shoving Lucien hard in the chest. His old friend flew backwards into the bookcase, spilling books and knickknacks onto the floor and sending it toppling over on top of himself. Lucien managed to flip the piece of furniture over, freeing himself, jumped up and sped back at Klaus, attempting to grab him by the neck. Klaus landed a blow to his stomach, then when Lucien bent over in pain, kicked him in the head.

In response, Lucien surprised Klaus with a roundhouse kick to his face, forcing him back a few steps. Lucien was upon him in a flash, and the two tussled, advancing and retreating as one gained the upper hand, then the other. They crashed into walls, sending objects flying and crunching glass under their shoes.

Out of the corner of his eye, Klaus saw Camille walking towards them, her arms held awkwardly in front of her. He couldn't see what she was holding until she raised both her hands. In her grasp was a long wooden object. Realizing she was trying to stake Lucien, Klaus called out, "Stay back!"

But Lucien had already sensed her approach. Turning slightly, he ripped the stake from her hands before punching her so hard she was unconscious before she hit the floor.

A fury so pure it almost felt like elation made Klaus' reflexes go into overdrive, and he was on top of Lucien before his old friend had finished swinging. With red spots dancing in front of his eyes, Klaus grabbed him by the throat with one hand and snatched the piece of wood with the other. "You are never…going…to hurt…her…again," he said, squeezing hard as he emphasized each word. "I'm going to throttle you until your eyes pop out, and when I'm finished that, I'm going to shove this stake so far up your arse it will come out your mouth. And then I'm going to tear you apart one limb at a time before I grind your heart into dust and end your pointless, ineffectual life for good."

But before he could make good on his promise, he felt a sudden force lift him bodily and hurl him backwards through the air until he smacked into the wall behind him. The force kept him pinned to the wall, helpless to do anything but watch as two identical girls barely in their teens, dressed in black and wearing bright red lipstick, helped Lucien to his feet with one hand each while they kept the other extended towards Klaus.

"Diana and Athena, my darlings," Lucien said. "Just in the nick of time. If you would be so kind, I think I'd like to leave."

The two girls began to chant, and Klaus felt a roaring wind whistle in his ears as a dust cloud developed from nowhere.

"Getting children to save your worthless hide is pathetic even for you," Klaus yelled. He tried to raise his arm, hoping he could move it enough to throw the stake before Lucien escaped, but the witches had rendered him almost immobile.

"Goodbye, Nik. Enjoy spending eternity alone and unloved."

"I'll find you, you bastard," Klaus roared. "I'll find you and kill you!"

When the roaring died down and the dust settled, and he was thrown to the floor like a rag doll, Klaus let out an agonized cry.

Lucien was gone, Camille was hurt, and he felt more helpless than he'd ever felt before.


	21. Tougher Than Most

**Chapter 21: Tougher Than Most**

He thought about speeding after Lucien. He could probably catch up with him, although the two witches would make it difficult to kill his old friend without back up. That would have to wait. For now, he had to look after Camille. He talked to her soothingly as he bundled her up in his arms before carrying her over to her bed, where he deposited her as gently as he could. He leaned over her to examine her battered face, lightly tracing the edges of the massive bruise he could see forming around her now swollen eye and on the apple of her cheek.

She groaned and cursed him thoroughly, then opened her eyes and groaned again. "Why are you smiling?" she asked accusingly.

"Because if you're articulate enough to tell me to go do certain unrepeatable things to myself, I know you're going to be fine."

"Of course I'm going to be fine. I'm an O'Connell. We're bred tougher than most." She gave him a tiny smile. "Besides, Lucien has a surprisingly weak right hook."

He sat on the edge of the bed and bit into his wrist. "Still, a little insurance never hurts."

"I won't say no," she replied as she sat up. "My face hurts like a bitch."

He put his arm around her and held her as she took some of his blood. Gradually, the marks on her face faded and her skin took on a healthy glow.

He stared at her in awe. She really was beautiful.

And this was probably the last time he'd be able to admire her beauty.

He took a deep breath, trying to focus his mind on what needed to be done. "Camille, if you're feeling well enough, I'm going to leave for a little while—"

"Right now?" She clutched at his sleeve. "He got away, didn't he?"

"I'm afraid so. If I know Lucien, he will go as far away as possible while he can, but I need to make sure my daughter is protected."

"Of course. You'll be back as soon as possible?"

"I promise." He got off the bed, but leaned back down and caressed her face. "Before I leave, I will make sure I'm the only one who can get back in this apartment. Now, I want you to stay put while I'm gone. I've healed you, but you've been through a lot."

Putting her hand over his, she nodded. "I hope you tear that asshole to shreds at the earliest opportunity. I wish I could've sent him to hell myself."

"I guarantee you won't be seeing his smarmy little face again." He turned to go, noticing that she didn't let go of his hand immediately.

"Klaus?" she said softly. "Please hurry back. We only have a few hours until..."

He couldn't think about that now. "Rest," he told her.

Back at the compound, he made sure that Hope was safe and happy before tripling the security around the perimeter. He also let Freya and Elijah know in no uncertain terms how sloppy their so-called precautions had been. Freya retreated to her room to try another spell and Elijah called some of their more shadowy associates around the world, offering a generous bounty for any intelligence on Lucien's whereabouts. Satisfied that they had done all they could for the evening, Klaus returned to Cami's apartment.

He let himself in through the balcony door this time, fully expecting her to still be on the bed. But it was empty. He found her sitting on the couch, hugging her knees. She had the bouquet he'd bought for her sitting beside her, and she was absentmindedly rubbing the petals of one of the roses. But her attention was focused on a potted plant which was sitting on the coffee table in front of her. To the uninitiated, it would have looked just like any other decorative plant: an attractive specimen with long stalks of gray-blue leaves, at the end of which were delicate sprays of blue flowers.

He knew better. He knew she grew them on her balcony so that she had a constant supply of the most potent anti-vampire substance known to man.

Vervain.


	22. Promise Me

**Chapter 22: Promise Me**

He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Camille? Did you…"

He couldn't even finish his sentence. If she had ingested vervain and made herself compulsion-proof, he didn't know what he would do. What he _could_ do to keep the woman he loved more than life itself safe.

She kept her gaze focused on the plant in front of her. "I thought about it," she said finally. "I thought about taking it while you were gone. Or shoving some in my pocket. I even thought about stuffing it down my bra." She let out a laugh, although it sounded almost like a sob. "I intended to make the decision for us."

Klaus sat beside her, the large bouquet propped up on the seat between them. "So why didn't you?"

"Two reasons." She drew a long, ragged breath and let it go before continuing. "One, I'm clearly much more of a coward than I thought I was."

"It's not cowardly to be afraid of the prospect of death. It's only natural."

"I don't think it's facing death that I'm afraid of so much as…" She seemed to be searching for the right words. "It's difficult to explain, but…I like who I am, Klaus. If I turn, if I become a vampire, I don't know what I'll be. I don't know who I'll be."

" _I_ know," he said vehemently. "I know you'll be an extension of the person you are now. You'll be strong, and... and understanding, and brave."

She merely shook her head. She thought he didn't understand her doubts, but he understood them better than anyone. The fact that she was afraid of her own demons convinced him even more of her fundamental goodness. She was one of the finest human beings he'd ever known, and she would make a fine vampire—using her enhanced abilities to make the world a better place, no doubt. But now was not the time to have that discussion.

"Lucien was telling the truth, though," he went on. "It's not the sort of decision one can make under duress. And as much as I love you, as much as it's taking all my self-control not to beg you to stay with me, I don't want you to choose it for me." He took her hand. "You know I'm right."

Even though she wouldn't look at him, she nodded.

"So what was the other reason?"

"I couldn't do it to you." Camille turned her head towards him, though she still wasn't looking him in the eye. "I've seen the expression on your face every time I've been in danger. Like it was killing you. I couldn't put you through that hell indefinitely, waiting day after day for the other shoe to drop. Not when there's a way to avoid it."

Not knowing how to respond to that, he squeezed her hand. He was grateful, but he would willingly endure a thousand levels of hell if it meant he could keep her in his life.

Camille finally looked at him as a tear slowly ran down her face. "Will I remember my friends? Your family? Your daughter?"

Reluctantly, he shook his head. "I can't run the risk of you putting two and two together. I'll have to erase everyone from your memory. Everything you know about the supernatural world."

Her face crumpled. "So I'm losing not just you, but everybody I care about."

He wanted to reassure her that she wouldn't feel the loss, that he would implant memories of friends and co-workers that she could carry with her, but he guessed she would resent that merciful lie even more.

With a sigh, she added, "It won't be the first time I've started over. But it gets lonely, going to a new place. At least when I got here I had Uncle Kieran."

"You needn't worry," he said. "This time you can go home."

"To my parents' home, you mean? Ha. I don't think so."

"They love you, and they'll welcome you with open arms."

She rolled her eyes. "You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know my parents." When he didn't respond, she shifted on the couch to face him, tucking her legs underneath her. "Or do you? What aren't you telling me, Klaus?"

He shrugged lightly. "I hoped your parents would be able to break the spell, so I paid them a visit."

The expression on her face was one he recognized: _go on, but choose your words carefully because I may just want to tear you a new one_. Ordinarily, it amused him, but this was no time for levity.

"You believe that they've been keeping secrets from you," he went on. "You're right, but they did it to protect you."

"Sure," she said. "That's the excuse Kieran used too."

"Camille, they were hexed. They were forced to leave New Orleans and never return. They thought they were doing the right thing by trying to keep you away from the supernatural world. Your parents have never stopped worrying about you and wanting to protect you against forces much greater than they can battle."

"Oh, is that all?" She raised an eyebrow. "Seriously, Klaus. What the hell? When were you going to tell me all this?"

"When it was safe for you to travel," he replied. "I knew you would want to go to them when you discovered the truth."

"Safe to travel. What a joke." Folding her arms, Cami glared at him. "Is there anything else you might want to tell me? Huh?"

He hesitated. There was one thing he wanted to say…

"I honestly don't know how you've managed to fool your enemies for a thousand years, because I can read your face like a book." She closed her eyes. "Jesus. This night couldn't possibly get any worse. You might as well say whatever it is you have to say."

With a sigh, Klaus fumbled in his pocket. "There is one thing. It's nothing bad. I think—I hope—you'll like it."

Suddenly, he was nervous that she wouldn't like it. The ring he'd brought with him from the compound probably wasn't the kind of token most women would appreciate. Instead of a gemstone, it featured the fearsome creature that adorned his family's crest winding its way around a large M imprinted in the white gold band. By any account, it was heavy and ugly. He just hoped she could see past the obvious and understand what it meant to him.

He held it up with an unsteady hand. "This has been in my family for a very long time. I always hoped that one day…if I were fortunate enough…I would give it to a very special woman as a token of my esteem and devotion."

Camille gasped. "Oh my God. Klaus, I never expected…I mean…the flowers were lovely, but this…"

"I want you to have it. Even if you won't remember what we shared, I want you to carry something of me with you. Please wear it."

He saw tears glistening in her eyes. "Klaus…I..." She shook her head.

Of course she wouldn't like it. "I understand," he said. "I should have bought you something to match your beauty."

"Don't be an idiot," she said softly. "I can't wear it because I can't possibly accept such an incredible gift. You are immortal. I'm a…brief interlude…in your life. And even if I weren't, I still couldn't accept it. We've only been together a month."

"Only because my fears kept me from pursuing what I wanted," he said. "I've loved you a lot longer than one month, Camille. I loved you when you saved me from death. I loved you when you entered my memories and saw a man, not a beast. I might even have been in love with you when you slapped me for having a hand in killing Agnes."

She chuckled at that.

"I think I've loved you since we both stood in front of that painting. And I won't stop loving you just because we can't be together."

She sighed. "But you can't stop living your life either, and I don't want you to. One day you'll find someone else—"

"No," he said. "I will never give this ring to any other woman. I know now it was meant for you. I was always waiting for you."

She closed her eyes, and tears began to fall freely down her face. "You don't know how much this means to me…but I can only wear it on one condition."

"That I eat the monkeys' balls dipped in camel pee you promised me first?" he joked.

"That's not funny," she murmured disapprovingly, but she was grinning as she said it, and his heart soared at the lovely sight. "The condition is that you promise me you'll be all right. When I'm gone."

That gutted him. The only answer he could give her would be a deception, and he didn't want to lie to her.

"You have to promise me," she repeated. "You are loved, Klaus. By Elijah, Rebekah, Freya. By your little girl. And love will make you strong. It will make you the man I know you want to be. And you're going to have to remember that…because I won't be here to remind you."

It took all his strength not to break down. He wouldn't be all right, he would never be all right without her. But he needed to be brave, for her sake. He needed to honor her and what she had brought to his life. "I promise," he whispered.

Wordlessly, she held out her hand, and he slid the ring onto her finger.

"And I promise I will carry you with me, in my heart." Camille cupped his face, her fingers soft against his skin. "I love you."

He pressed his lips to hers, gently at first and then more hungrily. She returned his kisses passionately, knocking the flowers to the floor with her knee when she climbed onto his lap. She unbuttoned his shirt and touched her mouth reverently to the area just over his heart. In return, he smoothed his hands over her hair and down to the nape of her neck, which he held while he kissed his way down her throat. Within minutes, they were naked and writhing on the couch in a frenzied rhythm. There was a desperation to their lovemaking for the first time, and when their passion was spent, they clung to each other silently, Cami's head buried against his shoulder. Klaus realized there was still so much he hadn't said. So many things he wanted to tell her about how he felt.

And now it was too late.

Just before midnight, he took her face between his hands for the last time as he erased her memories and created new ones. "I will never forget you," he whispered before he disappeared into the darkness of the night and slipped from her life for the final time.


	23. One Day

**Chapter 23: One Day**

 _Hartford, Connecticut_

 _Three years later_

"God, I hate this time of year," Cami muttered as she collapsed into her chair after another fruitless lunch hour spent shopping for presents.

The only thing she liked about her job was that the Human Resources department of Kingmaker's Hartford branch was on the twelfth floor of the building. It gave her a respite from the shoppers that made downtown even busier every December.

"What has Christmas ever done to you?"

Cami looked up. Her friend and colleague, Georgia, poked her head over the top of the partition that separated their cubicles. "Why are you such a grinch?"

Cami knew Georgia was joking, but it was a good question. She remembered loving everything about the festive season when she was younger. What had changed?

"That is something we can explore in my next therapy session," she replied.

Georgia balanced her chin on the partition. "Great. I'll add that to the growing list of topics that you evade and deflect."

Cami smiled. "Go do some work, woman."

"Ugh, don't remind me," Georgia said. "I have a termination interview at two." She tucked a stray strand of her long brown hair behind her ear. "Do I look okay?"

"You think the person you're firing will care what you look like?"

"No, but it makes _me_ feel better. How this company can let people go a week before Christmas is beyond me."

"Well," Cami said, "when you get that promotion to management, you can change company policy."

"Ha ha. As if the mafia will let me change company policy. They're not exactly known for their labor relations."

Georgia wasn't exaggerating when she mentioned the mafia. It was common knowledge that the founder of the company, one Lucien Castle, had been involved in secret activities and associated with shady characters. Even though there was no solid proof, everyone believed he'd had connections with underworld figures. So no one was surprised when the man disappeared, never to be seen again, and rumor had it that he must have been disposed of by his gangland rivals in a bid for power.

"I don't think our evil overlords even notice all the hours I put in." Georgia let out a few choice swear words. "When are we making our escape from this shithole again?"

"One day, kiddo. One day."

 _One day_ was what kept them going. It was what had bonded them when Cami joined the company. The two of them were the only trained psychologists in the HR department, and it had taken less than a month for them to become good friends and decide to open their own clinic together one day. But a job was a job. Administering psychometric tests, giving seminars on workplace stress and refereeing employee squabbles may not have been their dream, but it paid the bills while they saved their money and practiced their clinical skills giving each other therapy.

At least that was what they called it. Every Friday evening, instead of making the ninety minute commute home, Cami would stay at Georgia's place in the city. Over a few wines, they would laugh, cry, pry into each other's private lives, share their innermost thoughts and plan for the future. Sometimes they would stop at a bar or club first, and when that happened, they pretended that gossiping about the other patrons and inventing backstories for them was business, not pleasure.

Georgia had become a close friend, and she knew more about Cami than anyone else in the world. Georgia knew all about Cami's strict upbringing in a devout Catholic family, with its share of eccentric relatives and secrets she could never get to the bottom of. Georgia had heard about Cami's bond with her twin growing up, and how she had struggled to come to terms with the terrible crime her brother had committed as a man. How she had gone to New Orleans unable to comprehend the horror of his actions, but finally accepting the truth—Sean had been mentally ill, and there was no one else to blame, no one to punish for the crime.

Cami had told Georgia how she met a remarkable man in New Orleans, one who helped her finally mourn the loss of her brother. Dr Mark Steadman was a renowned psychologist himself, and a meeting at his book signing had led to a relationship that lasted almost three years before they split up and Cami grew restless again. Georgia knew how Cami had thought of home then, perhaps needing the comfort of the familiar, or just wanting a new beginning. After deleting her social media accounts and everything on her phone—she had wanted to make a clean break and start a new chapter in her life—Cami had headed back to her parents' home outside the city of Hartford.

Cami's relationship with her mother and father had been strained for a number of years, but they had taken her in, no questions asked, and she'd been living there, not ecstatically happy but not miserable either, ever since.

Over the last three years, Georgia had heard Cami's complete life story. Cami had shared the most private parts of herself, things she had never told any of her other friends, her parents or ex-boyfriend. Things she never thought she'd ever say aloud.

But there was one thing that Georgia didn't know about Cami, one thing that even Cami could barely acknowledge to herself.

That she was slowly beginning to think that possibly, just possibly, she was losing her goddamn mind.


	24. I Will Find You

**Chapter 24: I Will Find You**

 _Light spills from the doorways and windows of the buildings that line the street, illuminating the darkness. There's a festive feel in the air; jaunty jazz bursts from a bar she passes._

 _She feels cheerful as she walks down the middle of the road. Happier still when she sees the little boy._

 _The long black cassock he's wearing is almost invisible in the night, but the white surplice he wears over it stands out in a crowd of sweaty tourists in tank tops. The ornate vestment with its large floppy sleeves reminds her of the snow angels they make each winter. He is an angel too._

 _He turns and sees her and gives her a grin. "Hey, sis," he says in his sweet, gentle voice._

 _Her sweet, gentle twin._

" _Hey, Sean," she says." Long time no see."_

 _She goes to hug him, but he shies away. "Quit it," he mutters, "or you'll get me all scrunched," and he smooths down the crisp white cotton with a pout on his boyish face._

" _Sorry," she says, and she can't help but smile at how serious he is. "No scrunching, I promise." Then she looks him over. He's so small in his oversized outfit she wants to put her arms around him and protect him from the world. "You look very handsome. On your way to mass?"_

" _Well, duh." He turns sombre now. "I'm late, and I have to be there on time," he says. Then he puffs out his chest. "I'm chief altar boy," he adds. As if she didn't know. It's all he ever talks about._

 _But she doesn't want him to go to church today. God can have him any time; she needs him now. "Stay and keep me company. Walk with me," she says.  
_

 _He looks as if he'd like to, but he shakes his head. "I can't."_

" _Sure you can," she tells him. "You can miss one service. Just one."_

" _I can't," he repeats. He hangs his head. "I must atone for my sins."_

 _She laughs off the ominous words. "What do you have to atone for? You're just a kid."_

" _I must repent," he says. "You should go."_

" _And leave my brother?" she replies. "I just got here."_

 _His green eyes flash darkly. "While you can."_

 _She scoffs at the face he's making until he moves towards her urgently and grabs her arms. "This is hell. This is where the monsters reside."_

 _He's frightened her now with all this talk. "What monsters?" she asks in a panic._

" _We're all monsters," he whispers. "We're evil. Demons."_

" _Not you," she answers vehemently. "Not you. You want to be good. You_ are _good." She tries to take his hand. "I can help you. I can save you."_

 _He shakes off her touch. "You can't save me," he says. "Save yourself. Forget me. Leave this place." He points down the street. "Go."_

 _The despair in his voice and the anguish on his face terrify her. Her sweet, gentle brother._

 _She doesn't want to leave him, not like this, but she starts running anyway._

" _Lord Jesus," she hears him pray as tears fill her eyes, "I am sorry for my sins. I renounce Satan, and I give you my life."_

 _She runs for blocks, miles perhaps, and yet the streets are all the same. She's cried all the way, cried until there are no tears left to shed, and now she stops in the middle of a crowd. She's surrounded by people, yet so alone it paralyzes her._

 _She wraps her arms around herself. She wants to scream, but no sound comes out of her mouth._

" _You're afraid."_

 _She doesn't recognize the voice, yet somehow she knows he's talking to her._

" _Don't be."_

 _The voice is melodious, kind, restrained—as if it has the power to tear the world apart should it choose to, but it tempers itself for her. She likes it._

 _She looks around and finally spots him. He's leaning against a lamppost on the pavement. She can't see his face in the dark, but she sees the nonchalant attitude, the cocky stance, and she knows he's grinning. "It's good to see you too, Camille," he says._

 _She doesn't question how he knows her. "That's a grandma's name," she replies. "Call me Cami."_

 _She can't see it, but she feels his smirk widening. "I think I prefer to call you Camille."_

 _Not knowing why, she smiles with him. "Do you always get your way?"_

" _Usually. But not necessarily with you."_

 _They stand that way for long moments, grinning comfortably as if they've known each other forever._

 _Then she realizes all her fear, her loneliness, has vanished._

" _That's amazing," she says, although she doesn't explain what she's referring to. Somehow she knows he'll understand what she means. "How did you—"_

" _Some women actually find me quite charming," he says with a shrug._

 _She's sure they do._

 _But she doesn't admit that; she shakes her head instead. "You're wasting your time. I'm leaving this place. I'm going away."_

" _It doesn't matter," he says lightly. "I will find you." He steps away from the lamppost and begins to walk towards her. "I will always find you, Camille."_


	25. One Of A Kind

**Chapter 25: One Of A Kind**

Cami slowly opened her eyes. For a minute she thought she was still in NOLA—until the anemic rays of sunshine slanting through the window reminded her that she was in the middle of a Connecticut winter. It might not be Alaskan-cold, but it wasn't Louisiana-warm either.

Ironically, she used to complain about the heat and humidity of a New Orleans summer, but she missed it now. A few moments ago, she had been back there. Her dream had been so vivid she could almost feel the steamy air on her skin.

She blinked a few times to ground herself in reality. She was in Hartford, in the spare room of her friend's ramshackle rented old house. And her friend would be in the kitchen, waiting for her to appear for breakfast.

Cami pulled back the covers cautiously, hopped out of bed and made a dash for her bag to grab her change of clothes. She was grateful to Georgia for providing a place for her to stay every Friday night, but there were always problems with the heat, which made her morning ritual in the bathroom down the hall a test of mind over matter.

Thankfully, she had jeans, a comfy chunky-knit sweater and a warm pair of boots to fend off the cold this morning. In fact, she was almost toasty by the time she entered the kitchen.

Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was large and old-fashioned and full of nooks and crannies. Georgia didn't seem to mind it, though. She actually enjoyed using the ancient cast-iron stove.

She was cooking pancakes on it as a kettle whistled furiously next to it. "Get that, will you?" Georgia said, flipping one of her creations.

"Got it," Cami replied. She made tea for herself and coffee for Georgia, then took the mugs over to the small rickety plastic table in the center of the kitchen.

Georgia tipped the last of the pancakes onto the ones she'd already finished and brought over the plates. "I wish now I opted to take next week off instead of trying to clear my desk." She dumped the plates on the table and slumped into the chair opposite Cami's. "I feel like total crap this morning," she said. "I didn't even drink that much last night and—"

She stopped abruptly and there was a prolonged silence.

Cami looked over at her. "What? What's the matter?"

Georgia was staring at her. "You look like I feel. Are you okay?"

"God, I thought it was something serious. I'm fine. Maybe I look a little peaky because I don't have any makeup on. And beige is not my best color."

"I'm used to seeing you _au natural_ ," Georgia replied. "And you know you're still freaking amazing without makeup. You had one of those dreams again, didn't you?"

Cami had no clue how Georgia did it. She _always_ knew when Cami had experienced one of her recurring nightmares. "I would deny it to make my life easier, but I know you won't stop until I admit the truth. So yeah, I had one of those dreams again."

"I was right," Georgia said, looking up at the ceiling as if she'd made a bet with some divine being. "Tell me about it."

"You've heard it all before." Cami shrugged. "I'm in New Orleans. I see Sean, only it's a young version of Sean. Eight or nine, maybe. He starts to talk about his demons, about the sins he's committed. Then he tells me to go away. And I do."

Georgia sliced into her stack of pancakes. "And how did it make you feel, in your dream?"

"Like it always does. Sad, frightened. Guilty."

After chewing on another slice, Georgia asked, "How often are you having this same dream?"

"About once or twice a month," Cami replied.

"And you've been having them ever since you moved back from New Orleans?"

Cami nodded. "More or less. But they seem to be getting more frequent."

"Why do you think that is? Are you thinking about Sean more these days?"

"I don't think so. I thought I had made peace with what he did, Georgia. I mean, I've accepted that he was ill, that he wasn't in control of his actions that day. I know I couldn't have done anything to prevent it from happening, that I couldn't help him. But I guess my subconscious won't let go."

"That's only normal, sweetie," Georgia said, reaching over and giving Cami's hand a squeeze. "It's one thing to understand the tragedy of what your brother did on an intellectual level. It's another to process it emotionally. You've gone through an extremely traumatic experience. Your whole family has been affected. Losing a loved one, particularly like that, isn't something you're just going to suddenly 'get over' one day. So stop beating yourself up over it."

Cami looked down at her plate. How was she supposed to tell Georgia that it wasn't the dream that haunted her—in fact, she welcomed the pain and the joy it stirred in her—but the fact that during her waking moments she didn't feel anything? She couldn't even remember the details of that horrible day. And it wasn't just that aspect of her life slipping away from her. The gaps in her memory about other important events in her life and the disconnect from the emotions she ought to be feeling terrified her. What if the psychosis that had gradually overtaken her brother was coming to claim her sanity too? What if his demons became hers?

Georgia nibbled on a forkful of pancake, oblivious to the turmoil going on in Cami's mind. "So…your dream. Did the creepy stalker make an appearance this time?"

Cami knew this would come up sooner or later. She should never have mentioned the mysterious stranger who usually appeared in her dreams of New Orleans.

She fought against rolling her eyes in exasperation. "How many times do I have to tell you he's not creepy?"

"No, of course not. A dude telling you he's going to come find you is totally _not_ threatening at all."

"It's not like that," Cami said, chuckling. "It's…"

Georgia leaned forward. "Yes?"

"It's hard to explain, but it feels…comforting, somehow, when he says that. I think it's meant to be reassuring."

"Are you sure it's comfort you're experiencing? Or something else, seeing that Mystery Man is a hot guy with a cute accent."

"I'm going to ignore that question." Cami picked up her mug and took a loud slurp of the contents to demonstrate how completely she was going to ignore it.

"Of course you are." Georgia brought her coffee cup to her lips and looked at Cami over the top of it. "When was the last time you got laid?"

Cami lowered her mug onto the table with a thud, spilling some of the contents in the process. "I'm going to ignore that question too."

"Oh, come on," Georgia said, impervious to Cami's embarrassment. "You know as well as I do that when you dream about a cute guy, it's an expression of your romantic and/or sexual frustration. I've known you for three years, and in that entire time, you've dated two guys—Kyle in accounting for three months and that insurance guy whose name I can't remember for maybe six weeks. Unless you're having one night stands that I don't know about, you're celibate as hell. So I ask again: when was the last time you got laid?"

Cami thought about changing the subject, but once Georgia latched onto something, she was like a dog with a bone. And it wasn't as if they hadn't discussed sex before. In great detail. "What do you want me to say? I'm picky, okay? I don't need to date just for the sake of having a man in my life. I'd rather be alone. I'm waiting for something…special."

Cami realized how lame that sounded as soon as she said it, and it didn't surprise her when Georgia grimaced in response. "How can you find something special when you don't even give guys a chance? Like the dude who was hitting on you last night. What was wrong with him?"

"The lawyer with the purple bow tie? No thanks."

"So you're eliminating an entire profession now?" Georgia said. "What have you got against guys with a stable job and money in the bank?"

"He was wearing _a bow tie_ ," Cami replied. "It's not like he was in a tux going to a formal event. He had suspenders on. And he wasn't wearing socks."

"It's a look. A fashion statement," Georgia said with a straight face.

"Is that statement supposed to be 'I'm an overgrown child whose mommy forgot to lay out my socks for me this morning'?"

"Says the woman who sleeps in a room with faded Chad Michael Murray posters next to her bed."

"Liar! I took them down the first night, and you know it," Cami said with a laugh. "And it's completely different. I hadn't been in my old bedroom since I left for college."

Georgia just looked at her without expression. "You are the last one who should be judging other people's taste. I hate to break it to you, babe, but you wear the fugliest piece of jewelry I've ever had the misfortune to look upon."

Cami played with the ring on her finger. Although she had fallen in love with the chunky, offbeat accessory the moment she laid eyes on it in a tiny NOLA antique store, she knew it wasn't everyone's cup of tea. "Okay, touché," she said. "But I'm still not interested in Bow Tie Man."

When Georgia leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, Cami knew her friend hadn't finished with the inquisition. "Yet you are interested in Mystery Man. Describe him for me, this dream guy."

"I told you I never see his face."

"Not what he looks like. What is he _like_? What makes him so dreamy?"

Cami made a strangled noise in the back of her throat. "Can we get off this topic?"

"Nope." Georgia grinned smugly. "You know I won't let up on you until you tell me what I want to know."

"Whatever." Cami propped her elbows on the table so that she could rub her temples. "You want to know about him? Okay. He's…charming. Charismatic. Confident—no, cocky, but with an underlying vulnerability. Intelligent. Has a sense of humor, but he's dark too. Powerful. Slightly dangerous. Complex. Unpredictable. Definitely one of a kind."

Georgia raised one eyebrow. "You got all that from a thirty second dream?"

"Leave me be, woman. It's my fantasy."

"Uh-huh! You admit it!" Georgia leaned forward. "I never would have guessed it, but you—the sensible, analytical Cami O'Connell—are attracted to the bad boys."

"In my dreams, maybe," Cami said, "but I don't actually date them. I know better than that."

"It all makes sense now," Georgia mused, grabbing their cups and getting up from the table. "You don't give ordinary guys a chance because you think they're gonna be too boring and safe. Too one-dimensional. You need a challenge, someone who's going to excite you intellectually and physically and keep you guessing. Mark must have been one hell of a guy."

"Mark was nothing like the man in my dreams," Cami replied. "And you know what? I liked that. I liked that I knew exactly what Mark would say and do, where he'd be at any time of the day. I liked his predictability. Because that's called being responsible. Reliable. Mature."

Georgia rinsed their cups in the sink and turned back to Cami. "He sounds very…worthy."

"I know you're insulting him, but he was a good man." Cami got up and brought their plates over to the sink. "Now can we stop dissecting my non-existent lovelife and talk about something else? Shoes, maybe? Climate change? Chad Michael Murray?"

"Sure," Georgia replied over-cheerfully. "But answer me one question first. Why does Mark sound more like he was your bank manager than your boyfriend?"


	26. A Giant Jigsaw Puzzle

**Chapter 26: A Giant Jigsaw Puzzle**

Cami laughed off Georgia's question, but it plagued her all the way home. It nagged at her for the rest of the day, and it was the first thing she thought about when she woke up the next morning. The comparison had been unfair, but she had to admit the way she described Mark made their relationship sound boring.

As Cami lay in bed, she closed her eyes and conjured up the image of her ex-partner. She could see his face in her mind's eye vividly. She knew he was a good guy. She could recite his virtues all day long, as if she had memorized a list of them.

But what she couldn't do, no matter how hard she tried, was recreate the emotion she must have felt for him at some point.

She just couldn't feel _anything_ for the man.

A clawing sensation in the pit of her stomach threatened to make her vomit. She was losing her mental faculties. She had to be. Why else would she be having trouble remembering details about the most important people in her life? Why else was she having so much trouble feeling emotion?

Maybe looking at photos of Mark would somehow rekindle the memories of her love for him.

She got out of bed and went over to the small desk near her window, then turned on her laptop and waited for it to boot. Cami knew there weren't any pictures on her phone older than three years ago; she must have deleted every single one before she came home—another thing she didn't remember doing. She had no Facebook or Twitter account to check either. But surely she had kept some reminder of their life together. Their break up hadn't been a bad one. There was no reason why she would have destroyed all records of his existence.

She went through every folder on her computer. There were no photos of Mark. No photos of her life in New Orleans at all. Not one shot of Rousseau's or her apartment or even Sean's gravesite.

When she went downstairs, the maid informed her that her parents had already left for church. It was a relief to have the house almost to herself. She slipped into the study, where she stored all the books she couldn't fit in her bedroom. Her father had kindly allowed her a few shelves to store her psych collection, and it took her only seconds to find the volume she was looking for—her signed copy of _Essays in the Study of Abnormal Psychology_ , by Mark Steadman, Ph.D.

Cami lifted it down from the bookshelf and hurriedly flipped open the back cover to look inside the dust jacket. There, smiling up at her, was a picture of Mark. This was the way she remembered him, relaxed but authoritative.

But as she studied the picture, admired his smile, looked into his eyes, she felt…nothing. He might as well have been a stranger.

She began to read the bio that accompanied the author's photo: _Mark Steadman has extensive clinical experience with the diagnosis and treatment of various behavior disorders. He is currently an Associate Professor at the University of Washington. He lives in Seattle with his wife and daughters, and—_

She stopped reading.

As the information seeped into her brain, she read it again. And again.

And again. Except the more she tried to read the words, the less she could comprehend the meaning.

For long moments, she stood in her parents' study, staring at the book with unseeing eyes as words flashed in her mind.

Seattle.

Wife.

Daughters.

That wasn't right. This wasn't the man she knew.

She looked at the photo again. Yep. This was definitely Mark. _Her_ Mark.

But her Mark had never mentioned having a family. Not once. If he had children, he never saw them at all during the entire time he was with her. And he didn't live in Washington; he didn't even visit the place.

It occurred to her that perhaps this wasn't the book he signed for her on the day they met in that little NOLA bookstore after all. Maybe she had made a mistake. Maybe this was an older book, and the life described in the bio had finished long before she knew him. But Mark didn't seem like the kind of man to abandon his children. Maybe there had been an unpleasant custody battle, or maybe he had lost his family and couldn't bring himself to speak of the tragedy.

Cami turned to the front. She flipped over the pages, looking for his signature, but found them blank. This confirmed her thought that this wasn't the right book after all. The heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach lifted.

Then she turned to the copyright page.

The book had been published three years ago.

Cami slotted the book back onto the shelf and returned upstairs to her bedroom, her heart thumping erratically in her chest. There had to be an explanation for all this, for her jumbled thoughts and memories. For all the things she had forgotten—or blocked out, perhaps. Was she repressing memories, or was she inventing things that had never been real?

Either way, her life had become a giant jigsaw puzzle that she had to put together for it to make sense.

She sat in front of her computer, opened a browser and with shaking hands typed in the words _Camille O'Connell New Orleans._


	27. A Person Of Interest

**Chapter 27: A Person Of Interest**

The first few entries only confirmed one thing: that she had been a student in New Orleans. Several times she appeared in the campus newspaper, though she didn't remember being photographed or interviewed for it. She had also been tagged on Facebook, and while the tags were no longer live, the links still showed up in her search. But she didn't recognize any of the people tagging her. Scanning the photos gave her nothing. No memories, no information, no emotion.

She continued to click on the list of hits until her cursor paused over one particularly intriguing title. _Entrepreneur's disappearance linked to French Quarter murder._

Cami clicked on the link, which took her to a local NOLA news story. She skimmed through the article, not really taking in any of the information, until she spotted her name.

 _Police are also trying to determine the whereabouts of one of the residents of the apartment complex who disappeared shortly after the murder of owner Stanley Barowski, 72. Camille O'Connell was last seen on the night of December 21, the same evening as the last confirmed sighting of Lucien Castle, millionaire philanthropist and CEO of Kingmaker Land Development Inc._

" _We want to emphasize that neither Ms O'Connell nor Mr Castle are considered suspects," Detective William Kinney of the NOPD Homicide unit said. "They are persons of interest, but our main focus is on making sure they are not also victims of a crime."_

Cami blinked at the screen and read the story again.

 _Holy shit_.

She leaned back in her chair. She was involved in a murder case? A murder that happened just before she left New Orleans?

 _Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit_.

She tried a new search: _Barowski murder O'Connell_. Almost obsessively, she clicked on the results and read snippets of each story.

 _Detective Kinney has confirmed that Barowski was the victim of homicide. "It was pretty gruesome. Whoever did this is a monster." But when pressed about whether the NOPD expected to find other bodies, he said the police weren't ruling anything out, including a link between this case and a recent series of murders in the area..._

 _The last known sighting of Lucien Castle is believed to have been at the apartment block on the evening of December 21. Police say they cannot disclose at this stage whether he is implicated in the murder of Stanley Barowski or the disappearance of Camille O'Connell. They also refuse to speculate on whether Mr Castle is the victim of foul play…_

 _Police were given reports of suspicious activity in O'Connell's apartment on the evening in question. "I heard an almighty ruckus coming from her place that night," resident Leon Johnson told reporters. "Cami, if you out there, c'mon home, girl."_

Each story was the same. Her landlord had been brutally murdered, the boss of the company she now worked for had disappeared around the same time, and she had been caught up somehow in the whole mess.

Why hadn't the police tracked her down to ask her about it? It wasn't as if she'd been trying to hide. They could easily have found her, seeing that she was living with her parents. Had her mother and father been protecting her? They had the money and connections to lawyer up and bury the thing, she supposed. But how was it she'd never heard a thing about it?

She kept reading until she discovered the reason the police hadn't come for her. A few days after the articles that had pronounced her a missing person came another announcement:

 _At a press conference this morning, NOPD Detective Will Kinney told reporters that police are working on "promising" new leads in the Barowski case. Although he would neither confirm nor deny the rumors of a link between the homicide and an organized crime ring, he did say that police had received information from undisclosed sources that raised "new theories" about the case._

 _When asked about the two persons who went missing from Barowski's apartment complex on or around the evening of the murder, he acknowledged that Lucien Castle's whereabouts remain unknown. "At this stage, we hold grave fears for his safety. We have however located our other missing person, Camille O'Connell. I can confirm that there is no evidence to tie her to this case, and we have eliminated her as a person of interest."_

 _Local residents say they don't feel safe even though police have stepped up their presence on the streets. "Hitmen coming into our homes? People's faces getting cut up and their bodies strung up like marionettes? What's next?" said one who asked not to be identified. And allegations of police corruption and cover-ups persist. "I don't believe nothin' the police say," said another. "They know the truth, and it ain't about no damn gangsters."_

Propping her elbows on the desk, Cami ran her fingers through her hair. The more she read, the worse it got. She had no memory of a homicide that took place in her own apartment building. Even if she wasn't directly involved in what happened, she had left town immediately afterwards. Had she run away from New Orleans because she was in danger? Did she have a psychotic breakdown?

Could she be responsible for murder…like her twin brother?

If so, why had the police eliminated her from their investigation? Was someone covering for her?

One thing was for sure. Cami had to find answers, no matter how shocking they might be, and there was only one place she was going to find them.

New Orleans.


	28. You're Not Alone

**Chapter 28: You're Not Alone**

The mild Louisiana weather embraced Cami as she stepped out of New Orleans Louis Armstrong airport and into the limo her father had arranged for her.

Normally, she disliked it when her dad tried to fix things with money. That was the main reason she had never taken him up on his offer to give her the funds to open her clinic. Growing up, she resented all the hours he was away from home building his business, and she hated it when he tried to make up for his absence as a father with material things. But today she was grateful he had been able to make her trip happen. If not for his contacts, she would never have been able to get a flight at this time of year, nor a room, probably—certainly not at a five-star hotel near the river. She really didn't need an extravagant suite on the twelfth floor, but the view was to die for, and it was within walking distance of everything in the French Quarter, including her old apartment.

When she first mentioned the trip to her parents, she was met with a heavy silence followed by the same question over and over: why? She didn't want to frighten them unnecessarily with the truth, so she told them she was going to NOLA to visit Sean's grave. Cami wasn't at all surprised by their reaction—both of them visibly twitched any time she even mentioned New Orleans—but her vague answers to their questions only made things worse. The conversation ended in a bitter argument, during which her mother called Cami selfish and thoughtless for not being with her family at Christmas, and her father sat silently drinking glass after glass of wine.

But the next day she discovered her dad had arranged and paid for her flight and accommodation. When pressed, he admitted he had called in a few favors to make it happen. "The only reason I'm doing this is because otherwise you'll drive twenty-four hours in driving snow and sleep in a dumpster rather than admit it's a bad idea."

Cami felt a twinge of guilt. Her parents wouldn't take more than a token amount for board, and now he was paying first-class prices for her trip. "I'll pay you back," she said and kissed his cheek.

"No, you won't," he replied. "Call it an early Christmas gift. Now go make up with your mother."

But her mom had disappeared. Late that evening, Cami was in her room packing when she saw out of the corner of her eye her mother hovering in the open doorway.

"Have you got enough clothes for the trip?"

Cami knew this was her mother's way of trying to initiate a reconciliation. "I'm not sure. Do you want to come check?"

That was enough of an invitation for her mother. She walked over to the bed and inspected the piles of items Cami had laid out to put in the suitcase sitting next to them. "You're not going to wear those skintight trousers all the time, are you? I don't know why you insist on torturing yourself getting in and out of those revolting pieces of clothing." Without giving Cami time to answer, she went on. "I think you need more than one sweater, and that jacket doesn't look very warm."

"I'll have my trench coat as well. I'm taking it on the plane."

"The charcoal one? I like that coat; it suits your complexion beautifully."

"It's the only one I've got, so that's the one I'm wearing."

Her mother's eyes lit up. "You could let me buy you a new one. I've been dying to take you shopping for a new wardrobe."

"You and Dad have given me enough," Cami said. "I didn't come home to spend my parents' money."

"Gracious, you must be the first child in history to object to spending their parents' money." Cami's mother perched herself elegantly on the corner of the bed. "You said the reason you decided not to get a place of your own is so you can save up to open your clinic, yet you won't let us help you with that." She sighed. "You know we want to spoil you. You're all your father and I have left, and until you have some grandchildren—"

"Mom."

"I know, I know. I'm using emotional manipulation, as you would say."

Cami continued her packing. "Just a little bit."

Her mother began rolling some of Cami's underwear into balls. "You haven't been terribly unhappy, though, living here with us?"

"Of course not."

"Yet you've been restless too. I can always tell. It's just like when you ran away from home to visit Kieran."

"That was part of my 'I hate everything' phase. I was full of teenage angst at the time. Or piss and vinegar, as Dad would say."

Her mother wrinkled her nose. "I really wish he wouldn't use such a crass turn of phrase." Then she gazed up at Cami. "Are you running away this time too? Or are you running _to_ something? Someone?"

"I'm only going to pay my respects to Sean and Uncle Kieran," Cami replied. "I'll be back before you know it."

"Do not lie to your mother, Camille Marie O'Connell. I know some scheme is bubbling away inside that head of yours. I just want to know what it is."

"Really, it's nothing—"

"Tell me the truth. What is in New Orleans that you desperately need to find? What is it the answer to?"

It was clear her mother wouldn't stop until she was satisfied with the response she got. Cami pushed her makeup bag out of the way so she could sit next to her mom on the bed. "If you want to know the honest truth, I…I don't know. I don't know to explain this, except to say I feel…I feel as if part of my life is missing, and I want to get it back."

Her mother didn't look very surprised, and Cami wondered how much she knew about what had happened three years ago. "I see. Well, I won't pretend I'm happy about this trip. But once you've made up your mind about something, there's no stopping you." Her mother smoothed back a lock of Cami's hair from her cheek. "Please remember one thing. No matter what happens, you're not alone, Camille. I know you think we don't understand how you feel, but we do. Your father and I love you, and we'll do anything for you. Anything." She got up and went to the door, then looked back at Cami with a wistful expression. "My darling daughter. Don't spend too much energy chasing windmills when your life is here now. With us."

Cami remembered her mother's words as she enjoyed the luxury of being chauffeured to her hotel. Later, she pondered them again as she looked out at the Mississippi River from her opulent room. She had no idea whether this trip would be a waste of time or it would set her free, but being in New Orleans gave her a feeling of invigoration and contentment at the same time.

Day was giving way to night, and lights twinkled into life right before her eyes. She thought about eating room service, watching TV and getting an early night so she could start her inquiries first thing in the morning. But the city was beckoning, and she knew exactly where to go.

Rousseau's.

Sadly, the place she walked into was not the place she remembered at all. The décor had been changed to reflect the same contemporary-casual blandness as every other bar in the world, and none of the staff were people she had ever worked with. She had to swallow her response when the bartender told her to return tomorrow during the afternoon shift if she wanted to speak to somebody from the "old days." In the end, she ate a mediocre version of Jane-Anne's once-famous gumbo in one of the booths and left quickly.

It may have been a disappointing start, but she couldn't complain as she walked through the streets. They were lit up with beaming Christmas lights and vibrant with color and sound, and NOLA felt more like home to her than the place where she'd spent most of her life. She didn't even mind the fact that this part of the city was designed with one thing in mind: to separate the gullible tourist from his cash.

She found herself at Jackson Square—the most touristy of places, yet also a hub for all kinds of free entertainment and a place she had gone many times when she lived here. She had always loved listening to the jazz musicians and watching the mimes. She loved browsing the street stalls that sold an eclectic assortment of items, from kitsch knickknacks to unique handmade furniture, overpriced T-shirts to wearable art, tarot card readings to political newspapers. Most of all, she loved watching the painters. One particularly talented artist caught her eye, and she stopped to watch him make bold splashes of color on his canvas as a small crowd gathered in front of him.

Suddenly, the wind was knocked out of her as something collided with her stomach and almost made her topple over. She felt arms being wrapped firmly around her thighs, and when she looked down, she saw the top of a pink fur-lined parka, the owner of which had its face mashed against her coat.

"Well, hey there," she said. "Thanks for the hug, I guess."

The hood of the parka slipped back to reveal the owner—a little girl with long brown hair—as she looked up at Cami. "Don't let her get me," the child whispered, her blue eyes wide. "Please!"


	29. Guiding Spirits

**Chapter 29: Guiding Spirits**

Cami didn't even have a chance to ask the child who was after her. A woman wearing a flowing purple skirt and corset top and an immense turban that covered her hair appeared in front of them, and she looked pissed. "There you are, you little brat! Just wait until I get my hands on you!"

The girl darted behind Cami, who put out her hands instinctively as a shield. "Back off, lady," Cami said. "You're not going anywhere near this child."

"Are you her mother?" the woman asked, pointedly looking Cami over.

Cami raised her chin. "Who is asking?"

"I own a booth called Guiding Spirits," the woman said, gesturing with her head at the line of stalls behind them, "and your daughter just stole from me."

Cami could feel the girl's tiny body flatten itself against the back of her legs, and she knew instantly that the child was guilty. But seeing that her parents were nowhere to be seen, there was no way Cami was going to leave the kid at the mercy of this woman.

"Do you have you any proof of your allegations?"

"I saw the little thief do it! She picked up one of my healing crystals, and when she saw me looking, she ran off with it. That little bitch—"

"Hey!" Cami said. "That is no way to speak in front of a child."

The woman snorted. "You ain't gonna win Mother Of The Year any time soon, sweetheart."

Cami felt her hackles rising, but she was in no position to argue, seeing that the woman had a right to be angry. "Look," she said, reaching into her bag to take out her wallet, "I'm happy to pay for whatever item you believe she took."

"You think you can make this go away by splashing some money around? I'm gonna call the police on your asses!"

"I don't think you want to do that."

"No, you don't want me to do that."

"No, _you_ don't want to do that. Do you really want to press charges against a terminally ill child?"

The woman tried to catch a glimpse of the little girl, but the child squeezed her arms tighter around Cami's hips in an effort to make herself invisible. "Your kid's sick?"

"Have you ever heard of…" Cami wracked her brain for some impressive sounding medical jargon. "…Hyperintracranial Paraglycemic Displasia Disorder? No? I'm not surprised. It's very rare…" Cami dropped her voice to a whisper. "…and invariably fatal. It causes a number of symptoms, including kleptomania. My baby can't help it, you see. She looks normal, but inside, she's a mess."

The woman's face was frozen. "How long has she…got?"

"Weeks," Cami said, pulling a Kleenex out of her bag and blowing her nose loudly. "She's Phase Ten. Just think how it would look to your customers if you _seemed_ to be harassing a dying child over something so trivial."

The woman pressed her lips together. "I suppose we don't need to involve the police in this," she said reluctantly. "But I can't just give my merchandise away."

"Of course not." Cami opened her wallet. "How much would it cost to replace the merchandise?"

"Tw—fifty dollars. Fifty-five. Ninety-nine. Fifty-five ninety-nine."

"Here's sixty," Cami said, extending a few bills towards the woman. "Keep the change."

The woman tucked the cash into the top of her blouse. "No harm, no foul. But you might want to keep your kid on a tighter leash. Not everybody is as nice as me."

Cami forced herself to smile. "Thanks for the tip."

As soon as the woman had disappeared back into the crowd, Cami reached around her back to try and pat the child on the head reassuringly. "The coast is clear. You can come out now."

Still gripping Cami's coat, the little girl walked around in front of her.

This was Cami's first opportunity to study the child. She was small and looked to be on the skinny side, even with a padded jacket on. Her large eyes and prominent cheekbones added to the waif look. Cami was no expert on child development, but she had studied enough theory to guestimate the girl's age at somewhere between four and six.

The little girl looked up at Cami with a frown. "That thing you said I got. Hypa…hypa…"

Was that a hint of a British accent in her voice?

"Don't worry about that," Cami replied. "I made all that stuff up."

The little girl looked puzzled. "Mummy says you shouldn't lie."

"And she's right, but sometimes you have to do something bad for a good reason. I didn't want that angry lady to yell at you or hurt you."

The child pondered that. "Okay," she said finally.

"So," Cami said, squatting in front of the girl. She knew it tended to calm children down and make them more likely to open up if you talked to them eye to eye. "My name is Cami. What's yours?"

The little girl hesitated. "I'm not s'posed to tell strangers my name."

"I understand. Your mommy is a very wise woman, and you're a very good little girl for remembering her rules. But if I'm going to help get you back to Mommy, I need to know a few things. Is that okay?"

The girl nodded. "I'm Hope Mikaelson. With a K. Daddy says I have to tell people about the K because they're unimagina—unimaginamative morons."

Cami chuckled. "Pleased to meet you, Hope Mikaelson with a K. Now, are you on vacation in New Orleans, or do you live here?"

"I live here with my mummy and daddy and uncles and aunts."

"One big happy family, huh? Can you tell me where you live?"

"Uh-huh. At the Abattoir."

 _The Abattoir_. Cami had walked past the grand old building many times. It gave off a creepy vibe sometimes, but all she knew about the people who lived there was that they were said to be wealthy eccentrics who kept to themselves a lot.

"If I walk you back there, is there anybody at home right now?" Cami asked.

Hope nodded. "Auntie Freya. But Mummy and Daddy are _here_." She looked around at the crowd, and by the way her mouth was drooping, she was about to get upset.

"I've got an idea," Cami said. "How about I wait with you for a few minutes, and if your mom and dad haven't found you by then, I'll take you home, and your Auntie Freya can call them and tell them not to worry."

"Okay."

"Okay. In the meantime, we need to talk. You know it's wrong to take stuff that doesn't belong to you, don't you, kiddo?"

The little girl shuffled her feet. "I didn't mean to. Auntie Freya says you can't put Zeodite next to Malodium—Malodi—Malodiumun…" Hope took a deep breath. "Malodiumunum…un."

"Those are some big words," Cami said with a laugh. "Auntie Freya must know a lot about crystals."

"She's a witch," Hope said proudly. "She's teaching me lots of stuff."

Cami guessed the woman was a Wiccan, or a New Age type who frequented places like Guiding Spirits. "So you were separating the Zeodite and the Malodi-whatever?"

"Uh-huh. Then the lady saw me. And she got real mad and yelled at me. And I got scared and ran away."

"Got it. So you still have the crystal?"

"I dropded it on the ground." Hope snuffled loudly.

"That's okay," Cami said soothingly. "Who needs her yucky old piece of junk anyway? She didn't even know enough to keep the Zeodite and the other stuff away from each other!"

Hope smiled. "You're nice," she said and reached out to take hold of a few strands of Cami's hair. "And pretty."

"There you are, Hope Mikaelson!"

Hope let go of Cami's hair and whispered, "It's my mummy." She turned and smiled broadly. "Mummy! I made a friend!"

Cami stood and watched as the striking brunette woman approaching them frowned at her daughter. "Hope, you know I've told you to stay—" Her gaze flicked over Cami and she seemed to freeze.

Realizing Mom was probably concerned about her little girl talking to a strange adult, Cami explained the situation. "So it was all a mix-up, really," she finished. "Oh, I'm Cami, by the way." She extended her hand. "Cami O'Connell."

"Hayley Mikaelson," the woman said, looking behind her. "Thank you for rescuing my daughter. But we really must be going now." She grabbed Hope's hand and gently pulled her little girl towards her.

"No, Mummy," Hope whined. "I want to stay here."

"We have to go."

"But I want Daddy to meet Cami."

From the expression on her face, Hope's mother thought that was a terrible idea. "Maybe some other time."

"No, now!"

Cami had never seen someone literally dig their heels in before, but the little girl was not budging. She closed her eyes and began muttering something under her breath.

"Hope Mikaelson," her mother whispered, "you know the rules when we're out in public. If you don't stop chanting and do as you're told, I'm going to carry you home kicking and screaming like a big old baby."

"No!" Hope yelled loudly enough to make the crowd around them turn to see what was going on. "I won't let you, Mummy!"

"Goodness me, all this carrying on." The masculine voice cut through the crowd. "This can't be the same Hope Mikaelson that I know and love making all this fuss?"

Hope turned and hurled herself at the owner of the voice, who kneeled in front of the child before Cami could get a good look at him. Hope hugged him with all the strength in her little arms and gave him a loud kiss somewhere on the face. "Daddy!" she said. "I got a new friend. You have to meet her!"

"Then by all means, my naughty little monkey," the man said in a ridiculously sexy English accent, "introduce me."

He stood and allowed Hope to tug him forward.

"Daddy," Hope said, "this is—"

"Camille," the man said breathlessly.

And for the second time that night, Cami felt as if all the air had been knocked out of her.


	30. Things Have Changed Around Here

**Chapter 30: Things Have Changed Around Here**

 _Get a grip, Cami._

It wasn't as if she hadn't seen a hot guy before, although this man certainly stood out in a crowd. He had thick curls that a girl could run her hands through, a great bone structure, and even though she wasn't normally a fan of facial hair, she liked the way it framed his full red lips. He was well dressed too, in a tailored black wool coat that must have cost a fortune.

But she usually didn't have this kind of physical reaction to a man she'd just met, like her knees might give way any second. It must have been his eyes. They really were beautiful—warm and haunting.

Mesmerizing.

And they seemed to be looking into her soul right now.

It was Hope's voice that brought her back to earth. "No, Daddy," the little girl was saying. "It's _Cami_ , not Camille."

"Actually, kiddo," Cami said, "your daddy is right." She looked up at Hope's father. "But how did you know?"

He was still looking at her intensely. "I…uh… Rousseau's…it was on your nametag. I used to go to Rousseau's a lot."

She must have made quite an impression if he remembered her name after all this time. How was it she didn't recall ever serving him? She really must have amnesia if she had no memory of this particular customer.

"Have you been to Rousseau's lately?" she asked. "Things have changed a lot since I worked there."

He seemed to snap out of his reverie. "A great many things have changed around here," he said.

Was it her imagination, or was there a hint of sadness amidst all that English sexiness?

"Daddy," Hope said, "can we invite Cami to go get hot chocolate with us?"

Hayley immediately said, "No way." She seemed to realize how rude her response sounded, so she added, "I mean no way to the hot chocolate."

"You promised me." Hope scrunched her face into a dramatic pout. "Daddy, it's not fair. You _promised_ me!"

"Well, that's true—"

"Excuse me," Cami said, "but before you finish that sentence, can I talk to you a minute?" She gestured for Hope's father to follow her a few steps, just far enough away so that Hope wouldn't hear their conversation.

There was a faint glint of amusement in his eyes as he joined her.

"I know it's none of my business," she said, "but I don't think it would be appropriate for Hope to get a treat." Cami proceeded to explain what had happened. "Not only did she wander away from her parents, but she took the crystal, even if she didn't mean to steal it. And when her mom tried to take her home, she had a tantrum. If you reward Hope now, you're only reinforcing her bad behavior."

The man looked at her with that strange, intense expression in his eyes again. "Do you have any children, Camille?"

"I don't even have a partner," Cami blurted. "I mean, I know you don't have to have one to have a baby, but I would really like to have the father involved when I have a child."

 _Shit_. Why was she babbling about her single status to this guy? He didn't care. The mother of his child was standing two feet away.

"Anyway, I take your point," she went on. "It's easy for me to tell you what to do when I don't have any practical experience with children. I get it. But I do have a Ph.D. in psychology, if that means anything."

"I myself have found the study of the mind to be of great benefit in the past." The corners of his extremely sexy mouth lifted into a smile. "What would you suggest we do in this situation, then? In the way of discipline?"

"I don't think you need to be too hard on her. After all, the owner of the crystal place scared the hell out of her. Maybe just talk to her about stranger danger when you get her home."

"I'm not sure that I can use you as a cautionary tale, though," he replied. His smile broadened, revealing perfect dimples that made it hard for Cami to concentrate on what he was saying. "A captivating, beautiful, protective woman such as yourself coming to her aid is hardly the stuff of nightmares."

Cami felt her cheeks flush with heat. He called her _captivating_. She couldn't even remember the last time a man had complimented her.

Then she remembered the guy's wife was right behind them.

Hope bounced up to them suddenly. "Daddy, _may_ I get some hot chocolate? Please? I remembered my manners." She fastened her enormous blue gaze on Cami. "Why is your face all red?" she asked innocently.

Hope's mother saved Cami from coming up with an excuse. "Hey, we forgot we have work to do, wrapping all those presents we bought today. I think we better take a raincheck and get you home, princess," she said, putting her arms on her daughter's shoulders. "Otherwise Uncle Kol is going to cheat and find out what we got him." Hayley turned to Hope's father. "Klaus?"

Hope's father—Klaus—tilted his head towards her but didn't take his gaze off Cami. "You go ahead. I want to see if Hope's rescuer has any other valuable parenting advice."

Hayley's gaze flicked over to Cami and then back to him. "I think we should get Hope home."

"You take her," he replied. "I'll catch up."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" she said quietly. "Don't push your luck."

Klaus finally looked at the mother of his child, and something unspoken passed between them. "Go find Elijah, Hayley. He enjoys wrapping presents much more than I do." He glanced down at his child. "Now say thank you and goodbye to Camille."

Hope looked as if she might mutiny again, but one look from her father, and she was extending her hand to Cami. "Thank you. It was a great pleasure to make your acquaintanance," she said solemnly. "Would you like to join us for tea one afternoon this week?"

Cami liked the little girl and she was intrigued by Hope's parents—particularly her handsome father, if she was being honest—but she didn't know if it was a good idea to waste time socializing when she should be focused on her reason for being in NOLA. She decided to be politely vague. "I would love that," she said, "although I don't know how long I'll be in town."

"Please come." Hope took her mother's hand and turned to go, then raised herself on tiptoe to whisper in her father's ear. "Get her number!"

"Scoot," he whispered back and watched Hope and her mother disappear into the crowd.

Cami chuckled. "You're very lucky. Your daughter is delightful."

Klaus beamed at her like the proud father he undoubtedly was, and her heart skipped a beat. Did he know how attractive he was when he smiled? He had to, surely. That lopsided grin was a panty-melting weapon of mass destruction.

"She really is a special child," he said. "She's actually very gifted, which comes with its own set of issues. That's why I wanted to ask your advice." He moved in closer, close enough that Cami could smell his spicy cologne and stare into the depths of his sapphire eyes. "Over a drink, perhaps."

Cami tried to suppress a shiver. He was good. Very good. Smooth and sexy and… _married_. She took a step back. "I'm probably not the best person to ask about raising a gifted child. But if you give me your phone number, I can text you and your _wife_ some references to look up."

 _Got the message, charming married asshole with a roving eye_?

"My wife?" he said. "Oh, you're referring to Hayley. I'm afraid you're laboring under a misapprehension. Hayley is my brother's wife, not mine."

This wasn't the first time Cami had heard a man deny he was married even though the evidence suggested otherwise. She folded her arms. "The mother of your child is married to your brother? Or did I imagine the part about Hayley being your baby mama too?"

"No, the baby mama part is correct. And yes, Hayley is married to Elijah." He whipped out his phone and began swiping the screen. "Let me prove it."

He held out his phone for Cami to look at. Begrudgingly, she glanced down at the picture on the screen, which was date stamped the previous July. Hayley was looking radiant in a stylish but simple white dress. Next to her was a dark haired man in a very expensive looking suit, and he was awkwardly letting Hayley hold up his hand so they could show off their matching wedding rings for the camera.

"Oh," she said. "My mistake. I guess that's what you'd call a slightly unconventional take on a blended family."

"One thing the Mikaelsons have never been accused of is being conventional." He laughed. "And before you ask, I'm not married to anyone else either. No wife, no girlfriend. I'm free as a bird, Camille." As his smile faded, he gazed at her as if he was trying to read her thoughts. "So would you care to have a drink with me now?"

 _Say no, Cami. You came to New Orleans with a purpose. That purpose doesn't include flirting with a man, no matter how fascinating or attractive he is. His life seems complicated enough, and yours sure as hell is at the moment._

 _This isn't going to go anywhere._

 _It can't._

"Yes," she said despite herself. "I'd love to."


	31. One Last Drink

**Chapter 31: One Last Drink**

What was he doing?

What. The. Hell. Was. He. Doing?

Of all the foolish things he had attempted in his life, this was one of the stupidest, because it could only end one way, and that was going back to his life without her. He was only going to punish himself by spending time with Camille. He was going to have to look at her beautiful face, listen to her voice and her laugh, without being able to touch her and tell her how much he had missed her. How much he still wanted her. And then he was going to have to let her leave his life again.

And all the while, she would be oblivious to the fact that he loved her so much it hurt.

He could blame his stupidity on the sudden shock of seeing her unexpectedly, but he knew himself well enough to realize he was deliberately pushing his luck, exactly as Hayley had warned. He had done his best to stay away these past three years because he knew it would be less painful in the long-run. Yet she had walked back into _his_ life, and he wasn't strong enough to resist the opportunity to be with her, at least for a few short moments. Perhaps a part of him was hoping Cami would somehow remember him, even though he knew his compulsion would hold. Perhaps in his heart he thought this was a sign. Now that things had settled down, maybe he could bring her back into his life. Maybe he could be happy after all.

But he couldn't do that to her, put her through hell again just for his own selfish needs. He'd already caused enough chaos in her life. And there was no guarantee she wouldn't resent him for dragging her back into the world of the supernatural. There was no guarantee she would love him again.

The sensible thing to do would be to make an excuse and walk away now.

Yet being sensible was so much harder when Camille was standing in front of him, drawing him to her like a moth to a flame.

So instead of walking away, Klaus told her about a small jazz club a few blocks down, and they began to meander through Jackson Square towards St Peter Street.

"You know the thing I miss most about living in NOLA?" she said as they passed a painter filling an enormous canvas with huge strokes of color. "Being able to watch people express their creativity. I love watching the artists at work."

"Do you paint?" he asked her—not at all because he wanted to jog her memory of past conversations, but merely because it seemed a good way to continue the conversation.

"I wish I had the talent," she replied. "I just admire. And being a psychologist, I try to figure out what their story is. Every artist has one."

"And what do you suppose his story is?" Klaus said, unable to help himself.

She let out a soft huff of laughter. "I don't want to bore you with my psychobabble."

"I'm sure you couldn't bore me if you tried," he said, smiling back at her.

Their gazes held, and he saw her pupils dilate and heard her breath quicken. He was lost in her eyes until she laughed awkwardly and glanced away. "Do those lines usually work for you?"

"You wound me," he said, placing a hand over his heart. "Some women actually find me quite charming."

"I'm sure they…" Her face slowly creased into a frown. "Wow," she said. "I keep having these weird déjà vu moments. Like we've been here and had this conversation before."

"Perhaps your mind is trying to tell you something."

Immediately, he wanted to kick himself. It was one thing for her to have a vague feeling of familiarity. Humans experienced déjà vu all the time, and he knew she wouldn't question it. But it was quite another for her to suspect there were gaps in her memory and agonize over them. He remembered all too well how his Curious Scholar liked to solve mysteries, particularly when it came to her own mind.

He could see her beautiful brain working now. "You recognized me, yet I don't remember serving you at Rousseau's," she said. "Have we ever talked before?"

"Ouch. I don't think my fragile male ego can bear the thought that you aren't sure whether you've met me before." She looked at him as if she was waiting for him to go on, so he added, "You were always busy tending to the lonely and dispossessed who wandered in off the street. I think you liked to rescue lost souls."

She shrugged. "People just want someone to talk to. A little kindness goes a long way."

"It means more than you can possibly know," he said.

She blinked a couple of times. "It just happened again. It's so intense that…"

"That…?" he prompted.

"Never mind." She shook her head. "I'm sure it's nothing. Why don't we go get that drink?"

They eventually reached their destination after stopping to watch a few of the entertainers in the square. Once they had gone down the steps into the hidden basement that served as a private club, they took off their coats and sat at a tiny table near the stage. Klaus was struck by how pretty Camille looked—in a wine-colored sweater that brought out the green of her eyes and her hair flowing around her face in waves. She ordered a Sazerac and he got a bourbon, and they listened to the band play for a while.

After a few drinks, she opened up about her life. He tried to learn as much as he could—particularly about why she was back in New Orleans—without seeming to pry, always changing the topic before she became suspicious about his interest. It was a relief to know that she seemed contented, if not blissfully happy. Truth be told, he was pleased when she admitted there was no man in her life. As much as he genuinely hoped for her happiness, the thought of Camille moving on with another love didn't sit well with him.

Klaus forgot all his reservations as, over the next few hours, they conversed freely about a range of topics, from what kinds of music they preferred to whether there was an afterlife. He recalled why he loved talking to her so much. He didn't have to explain or justify his opinions; she might disagree and even challenge him, but she never judged, and her sharp mind could keep up with him every step of the way.

After the final set of the evening finished and the musicians packed up, Cami leaned forward with her arms folded on the small table between them. Klaus noticed she was still wearing the ring he gave her, and it pleased him to know she had kept a part of him with her even though she was ignorant of the ring's significance.

"Thank you for bringing me here," she said. "I love this place."

Klaus leaned in too. "I thought you might." When she raised one brow questioningly, he explained how he had seen her once in Frenchmen Street, listening to jazz.

"Rousseau's. Frenchmen Street. Jackson Square. I suppose we had to officially meet sooner or later."

 _I would have found you._

"Do you believe in destiny, Camille?" he asked. "That two people are connected somehow, meant to be in each other's lives? Because I do."

He heard the breath rushing from her parted lips. She looked down, then back up at him. He was certain she had no idea how inviting she looked right now. "I don't know whether you're a romantic at heart or you're trying to seduce me, Klaus Mikaelson."

What was he thinking, saying something like that to someone he'd supposedly just met? She probably thought he was a crazy stalker. "Which would you prefer to be the case?" he said, trying to make light of things.

She looked amused. "I think it's only fair to warn you that you're wasting your time either way. I'm flattered, but—"

"I don't think I want to hear what comes after the _but_ , love."

Cami sighed. "If things weren't so complicated…"

He gave her a sympathetic smile. " _That_ is the story of my life: if things weren't so complicated. No need to explain."

She smiled back at him, and again, their gazes held. He knew she felt the pull of attraction between them. He could see it in her eyes, hear it in her breathing and her heartrate.

"I think they're closing this place up," he said, trying to hide his regret. "Which means, I suppose, it's time to get you back to your hotel. I'd like to escort you there, if I may."

"That's really not necessary."

"No ulterior motive here. I just want to make sure you get back safely. And pick up a few parenting tips on the way, I hope."

She didn't protest after that. They put on their coats and headed out into the cool night air. When Klaus discovered Cami was staying at one of the swank hotels down past Canal Street, he was relieved. The longer it took to walk there, the more time he got to spend with her.

But all too soon she announced, "This is me," and pointed behind her at the very elegant foyer of an up-market hotel.

Klaus felt a sinking feeling in his gut. He wasn't ready to say goodnight.

Or rather goodbye.

They both shoved their hands in their coat pockets and glanced at each other awkwardly.

"So…" she said. "I guess I better let you get back to your present-wrapping duties."

"Oh, that will be all over by now. Hope will have been in bed for hours."

She laughed. "Of course. I forgot the time."

"I hope that's because I'm such good company."

"You are. Very good company." Camille held out her hand. "I'm glad I met you, Klaus Mikaelson."

He felt his chest tighten. Nobody had ever said that to him before.

He took her hand, and he felt her pulse accelerate when his fingertips touched her skin. "I'm very glad I met you too, Camille O'Connell."

She didn't immediately let go of his hand. "I enjoyed the club. Thank you for taking me there."

"Not at all. Thank you for your company."

She seemed to realize that she was holding his hand longer than was socially acceptable for a first meeting and pulled back. "Well, I guess I better go. In. Go in. To my hotel."

"Yes," he replied, "I suppose you should."

They both stood there, not moving.

"So…" she said.

"So…" he said.

"So would you like to come up to my room?" she said in a rush.

His own pulse quickened. He couldn't think of anything he'd like better.

"For one last drink, I mean," she said. "I have an outrageously overpriced mini bar we could raid at my father's expense. Or a hot beverage if you prefer. There are fourteen different varieties of coffee on the room service menu. Or an Irish coffee, if you like—"

"I would very much like to come up to your room. For one last drink."

He followed her into the lobby, and they waited for an elevator. His heart was going faster now. When she said drink, did she mean an actual drink? Or did she mean more than just a drink? Her invitation had to mean something, didn't it?

Several people got into the elevator with them. The waiting was interminable as they stood side by side while the others got out on various floors. Klaus used this as an excuse to move closer until their knuckles were touching. She didn't move away.

The last person got out on the sixth floor, and they stayed side by side when the doors closed again. From the way she was standing beside him as stiff as a statue, he knew she was anticipating the possibilities of what could happen, just as he was.

"You should see the view from my bed," she said breathily and cleared her throat. "I mean, my room. Anywhere in my room. Not just the bed. You can see right across the river to Algiers Point. It's pretty spectacular with all the lights, and—"

She didn't have a chance to finish her sentence. He leaned over, cupped her cheek with his hand, turned her face towards him and gently covered her mouth with his.

Camille stiffened. Klaus thought he'd misread the situation and was about to pull back and apologize when he felt her relax into the kiss. He coaxed her mouth open, and she twined her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

He continued to kiss her until he had to come up for air. "I've been wanting to do that all night," he confessed.

Her eyes were large and shining. "I really do have a fantastic view."

"I don't care about the mini bar, or the fourteen different kinds of coffee on the menu," he rasped, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs, "and I don't care about the bloody view. All I care about is this."

He kissed her again. Her lips were just as he remembered, soft and sweet, and he thought he might pass out from the sheer pleasure of touching her. He kept on kissing her until the ding of the elevator sounded and they hurriedly pulled apart.

It was then he noticed the elevator had made it all the way to the twenty-second level without them noticing. He laughed and whispered, "I think we overshot our floor." She laughed too, and he took her hand and held it. Hers was trembling slightly, just like his own.

They traveled back down to the twelfth floor still holding hands. She led him out of the elevator and down the hallway, only letting go of him to grab the room card out of her bag. As she inserted the card into the slot, he pulled the hair away from her neck and kissed the tender skin just beneath her ear.

She shivered.

The door clicked open, and he tumbled inside the room behind her. She turned to speak, but he couldn't wait, pushing her gently against the wall behind the door and covering her mouth again. He coaxed and teased at her lips with his tongue, and she responded by fumbling with the buttons of his coat and dragging it over his shoulders to let it drop onto the floor. He did the same with hers, untying the belt and easing her out of it, then letting it fall from his fingers. He couldn't get enough of her now, kissing her mouth, her jaw, her throat, and letting his fingertips explore her silken skin, hearing her soft sighs and feeling himself harden with desire.

Klaus couldn't believe it. He had craved her for three long years, and the thrill of being close to her, of loving her, was as intoxicating as it had ever been.

He pressed himself against her body, and a moan escaped her lips as she let her hands travel down over his ass and back up under the fabric of his shirt. He explored her mouth languidly with his tongue and slid his hands underneath her sweater, making her gasp when he touched the tender skin over her ribs.

"Will you stay?" she asked, her soft voice breaking on the last word.

He nuzzled his face against her hair. "You know I want to."

He felt her smile. "I had an idea that might be the case." She reached up and pulled his face to her so she could place a soft and lingering kiss on his lips. "There's just one thing," she whispered. "Do you have a condom?"

The question was like a bucket of ice water in the face. With blinding clarity, he remembered she didn't know him. He was just a stranger to her. An ordinary human stranger.

He felt himself curling his hands into fists. He wanted her to be with him.

 _Him_.

Not some random guy she'd met on a trip to NOLA. Not a man she'd spend the night with and probably never see again.

He wanted to be remembered as more than a quick, meaningless fuck in a hotel room.

Klaus broke the contact between them. He backed up and found himself pressed up against the wall opposite her—only a couple of feet away, since the hallway was narrow. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice shaking. "This is all wrong. You don't know me."

Her eyes were hazy with desire still. "What?"

"I…I can't do this."

There was a long, excruciating pause as she took in what he said. "I don't understand," she replied. "Because I won't have sex with you without a condom?"

"You don't know me," he said again, not knowing how to explain.

Her face darkened with the heat of a blush. "That's...that's not fair. I don't normally do this kind of thing, but I thought… I felt…" She stopped, and he saw the precise moment she hardened into fury. "What am I saying? I don't owe you an explanation. I don't owe you anything. How dare you judge me. Get out!" She clawed at his coat on the floor, scooped it up and pushed it at him. "Get the hell out!"

"I'm sorry," he repeated feebly and pulled the door open.

He stumbled out into the hallway and heard the ominous clunk of the door as it shut him out of her room. Out of her life.

Klaus stood in the hallway, unmoving, as the realization of what he had done set in.

He had believed the worst thing he could endure was Camille not remembering him at all.

Now he knew differently.


	32. From A Hundred To Zero

**Chapter 32: From A Hundred To Zero**

Cami stretched like a cat in the huge king-sized bed and surveyed her hotel room. She loved this bed. She loved everything about her suite—the soft sheets, the luxurious marble and gold bathroom, the huge windows that gave her a panoramic view of the river. The way the early morning sunlight was slanting in through the windows. The mini bar stocked with Belgian chocolates that she was dying to try and more booze than one person could—

 _Uggghhh_.

 _No_.

She covered her face with her hands.

 _No, no, no, no, no_.

Why did she have to think about the mini bar?

 _Goddamn it_.

Now the memory was back in her head. The memory of _him_.

The awful, embarrassing memory of him.

Sleep had given her a few hours' reprieve from the humiliation of last night, but the horror was cringingly fresh again. It made her roll onto her stomach so she could bury her face in the pillows. And try to bury her shame in the process.

The thing was, she knew better. She knew better than to invite a stranger to her room, even if he was intriguing, intelligent, fascinating to talk to and sexy as hell. Maybe she was lucky that all he had done was slut-shame her and then leave her hanging. It could've been worse. A lot worse. The guy could have been a serial killer for all she knew.

He certainly knew how to kill the mood.

"You don't know me," he had told her. As if he hadn't been the one to initiate the physical contact between them. As if he hadn't kissed her expertly until she thought she might explode. As if he hadn't rubbed his very obvious and very healthy erection against her and made it clear what he wanted.

And then he suddenly had reservations because they'd only known each other for a few hours? How did a man go from a hundred to zero so fast?

Cami rolled over onto her back again, as if changing position would ease her mortification somehow.

"Some women actually find me quite charming," he had said. Oh, he had been charming, all right. Very charming. Talking about destiny, about how people were meant to meet. And she had fallen for his charm, hook, line and sinker. She had felt the connection between them. She had thought it was real—at least the butterflies she felt were genuine.

But it was all bullshit on his part. A con designed to…hell, she didn't know what it was designed to do. Not get her into bed. Because he had the opportunity to do that and he didn't take it. It seemed like all he wanted to do was lead her on and see if she would fall for the bait, like he was playing some sort of sick, twisted game.

He had certainly picked the right woman to toy with. The irony of the whole thing was she seldom slept with men on the first date—or the second or third or fourth; in fact, she couldn't remember the last time she had wanted to bring a man home. Like she had told Georgia, she didn't need to be with a guy just for the sake of having someone in her life. She had no problem with the idea of sex without commitment, but most men didn't interest her the way Klaus had. Most men didn't excite her the way he had.

Georgia had been right about her and her "dream man." She had a weakness for a particular type, and that type was the sophisticated, smooth-talking bad boy with the wounded look in his eye and the mysterious backstory. Klaus Mikaelson checked all the boxes in that regard.

When she thought about it, he embodied everything she was drawn to. He was the real-life version of the man in her dreams—who, as Georgia had pointed out, was obviously the manifestation of Cami's romantic and sexual desires. And just like the man who haunted her sleeping hours, Klaus had gotten under her skin without even trying.

Just like the man in her dreams…

 _Do you believe in destiny?_

 _I will always find you, Camille._

Hmmm. No wonder she'd had such a strong sense of déjà vu—she must have been recalling her dream. And it was so weird. Was it purely coincidence that they both talked of soulmates, the man in her dreams _and_ the one she had met last night?

Was it coincidence that they were almost identical?

The same panty-melting grin. The same cocky attitude. The same sexy accent. The same corny—though she had to admit, incredibly romantic—lines.

Wait.

Could it be that…could it even be remotely possible…that Dream Man and Klaus Mikaelson were one and the same?

 _You don't know me._

 _Perhaps your mind is trying to tell you something._

Cami shot straight up in the bed. Perhaps her mind _was_ trying to tell her something. Perhaps… _he_ …had been trying to tell her something.

Jesus. Could it be possible that she had known Klaus Mikaelson before? If so, why was he pretending they were strangers? Where did he fit with all the other puzzle pieces of her forgotten, mixed-up life from three years ago?

And what could she do to regain her memory of him?

She ripped back the sheets and raced into the bathroom. She had some errands to do today…and she'd be damned if she didn't get some answers in the process.


	33. A Whole 'Nother Direction

**Chapter 33: A Whole 'Nother Direction**

The headquarters of the Criminal Investigations Division was pokier than she thought it would be, and stifling hot inside. She took off her jacket, taking the opportunity to smile at the receptionist when she glanced Cami's way. Hopefully, the girl would remember that Cami had been sitting in the waiting area on a hard bench for forty minutes and call upstairs again.

"Won't be much longer," the girl promised.

Cami swallowed the sarcastic response that came to mind. The receptionist had said that three times now.

As it turned out, she was right this time. A few minutes later, a balding guy in a tight shirt who was clutching a bulging manila folder to his beer belly stopped in front of the receptionist. "Yo, Emma. This Cami O'Connell over here?"

Cami got up. "Detective Kinney?"

The man turned around. "Sorry, Will is spending the holidays with his sister. I'm Ray Farina. I came in on the Barowski case after Will worked it for a while." He motioned for Cami to sit down and lowered his body onto the bench. "I understand you got a few questions."

Cami sat next to him. "I do. I hope you don't mind."

"We're pretty busy, what with the division being short on personnel this time of year, but fortunately we don't have no homicides on the books at the moment." Farina crossed himself. "And Will spoke highly of you when you was working with us, so I figured a few minutes wouldn't hurt."

Cami had no idea what the man was talking about. She had worked with the NOPD? One more thing she had forgotten. "Thank you. I wanted to ask you if you had any new leads in the investigation."

"You didn't hear? We closed the case. We got a confession, but the perp died, so it never went to trial."

"I didn't know that," Cami said, slightly shocked at the news. "Who was it that confessed?"

"A guy named Vittorio 'Airbags' Cinzano."

"Airbags?"

"Because he used to save the asses of his bosses a lot."

"I see," Cami replied. "By bosses, do you mean members of a crime syndicate?"

"The Campese family. Cinzano was only a foot soldier in the hierarchy, but he was the kind of guy who got ahead by doing the dirty work. I seen it before in Philly, when I worked Vice. These wiseguys all want to be a _capo_ —lead their own crew—so they take care of business for their superiors while they work their way up the ladder. We suspected he did plenty of jobs for the _familia_ over the years, but he only copped for four murders, including Mr. Barowski's."

"So are you saying Stan Barowski's murder was a professional hit?"

Farina scratched his chin. "Yeah, that's the part that don't make no sense. There's no history of Barowski having anything to do with organized crime. But Cinzano made a full confession."

"So what led him to confess to this particular crime?" Cami asked.

"That's the interesting part. One night we get a call from the hospital. Airbags Cinzano is there, and he wants to talk to us. So we get over there, and we find out he's got end-stage liver cancer. He's hooked up to machines and looks like sh—looks bad, like he's gonna croak any minute. And he starts talking. Says he feels compelled to tell the truth and cleanse his soul before he meets his maker. Says how he did the hit as payoff for one of the Colombian cartels trying to muscle in on the Campeses' territory. Only somebody who seen the crime scene woulda known the details, so we figured he must be telling the truth."

Cami closed her eyes as she tried to process the information. "I cannot believe my seventy-two year old landlord was working for a drug cartel."

"People aren't always what they appear to be. Airbags also claimed he kidnapped three criminal associates on the same night: the guy who started Kingmaker, Lucien Castle, as well as a brother and sister from out of town by the name of de Martel. All three of them were supposedly respectable people, but according to Airbags, they were involved in a deal gone bad. He says he offed 'em, then cut up their bodies and took them into the forest for the wolves to eat. We never did find no bodies, though. Or parts of 'em. And without any other details, we could never confirm he did it."

"If it's true, he was extremely busy that evening. Why would he take the risk of killing and disposing of four people in one night?"

Farina shrugged. "Opportunity, maybe. Or he wanted to go out with a splash."

Cami nodded and thought about how to formulate the question she was most interested in getting answered. "Detective Farina, you may remember I was living in that apartment building before Stan was killed. I understand that detectives were trying to track me down at one point, but I never heard from you. What made NOPD eliminate me as a person of interest in the case?"

"Yeah, that's the thing. According to the case files, Will had a meeting with an informant one day. The informant gave him your whereabouts in Stanford and an alibi for the night in question. Based on the information Will got, he became certain you had no involvement in any of it."

"Who was the informant?"

"I don't think I ever looked at the name. I trusted Will's judgment. If he said you was clean, you was clean." Farina laid out the file on his lap and shuffled through the papers. "Ah, here we go. Dated December 29. Says Will met with a guy by…the…name…of… Gimme a sec, I'll find it…"

Cami waited as he ran his finger down the page. "Well, I'll be…" he muttered. "It was a Mikaelson."

Cami's throat was suddenly like sandpaper. "Klaus Mikaelson?" she said, her voice suspiciously scratchy.

"No, Elijah." Farina looked at her. "Huh. If I hadda known it was one of them vouching for you, I might've asked Will a few more questions. Like why he trusts anything a Mikaelson would say. Or how you're mixed up with that family."

Cami tried to look innocent. "I barely know them. Which means I have no idea why it's a problem."

"Then allow me to enlighten you, Ms O'Connell," Farina replied. "The Mikaelsons have been on our radar since they got back to town a few years ago. Wherever they go, suspicious activity occurs." He squinted at Cami thoughtfully. "That Castle guy comes to NOLA, is seen hobnobbing with the Mikaelsons on numerous occasions, and ends up dog food. Your alibi for when you skip town right after your landlord gets iced is provided by none other than one of the Mikaelsons. And on the night of the murder, Airbags is eyeballed at the race track, while a man fitting the description of Klaus Mikaelson is seen leaving the apartment complex. _Your_ apartment complex. Individually, it don't mean nothing. But all together…"

Cami's heart began hammering in her chest so loud she felt sure he would hear it. She thrust out her chin and pretended to be unfazed. "What are you saying exactly, Detective Farina?"

"I seen punks and hustlers and petty crims, and I also seen the real deal when it comes to the bad guys." He leaned forward. "I'm saying it's lucky for the Mikaelsons and their friends that Airbags confessed to the crime, or this case would've gone in a whole 'nother direction. Ain't that so, Ms O'Connell?"


	34. The Key To Everything

**Chapter 34: The Key To Everything**

Cami didn't know what to think as she hurriedly left the police station. Klaus Mikaelson had gone from sexy stranger to insensitive douchebag to shadowy man in her past to sinister underworld figure in twenty-four hours. Was he as dangerous as the detective had implied?

The man she met last night had been gentle and chivalrous with her, at least until he got cold feet. She didn't trust him, but something in her gut said his departure hadn't been prompted by any moral scruples, or a desire to hurt her. He had wanted something she couldn't give him—he wanted her to remember whatever it was they'd had together.

She had been given another intriguing piece of the puzzle as well: it was his brother who had persuaded the police that she was not involved in her landlord's murder. Were the Mikaelsons actually trying to protect her? Or was there some larger plan she was a part of? Had she been caught up in something so traumatic she wanted to—or _had_ to—forget it?

Her next stop was her old apartment building. She knew it was unlikely she would find the answers she was looking for there, but nevertheless, she found herself knocking on doors, including that of her own place, to find anyone who might tell her something about the murder and whether Klaus had been in the building that night. Either nobody was home, or they weren't answering their doors. So much for holiday spirit.

Eventually she gave up and went back out onto the street. Cami found herself wandering in the direction of the cemetery where her brother and uncle had been laid to rest, so she spent the next hour or so at their tombs paying her respects and desperately failing not to overthink her situation. Weary and dispirited, she headed back to her hotel to decide what to do next.

Back in her room, she collapsed onto the bed and eased off her boots. Before she could even think about the next step, her phone rang.

She answered the call more cheerfully than she actually felt. "Hey, Georgia."

"Don't hey me," said an annoyed voice on the other end. "I've left at least six messages that you haven't responded to."

"I'm sorry. I've been preoccupied the last couple days."

"With something juicy, I hope. Like a man?"

Little did she know. "No such luck. I'm in New Orleans."

"Oooh, nice. An O'Connell family reunion in the old home town, by any chance?"

"I don't think I have many relatives left," Cami said. "Anyway, it's nothing like that. I'm here alone."

"That sounds depressing. What are you doing alone in New Orleans right before Christmas?"

"Oh, just…you know…catching up with…friends."

There was an inarticulate noise on the other end, followed by, "Cami, you didn't go there hoping to see Mark, did you?"

"No, I don't even…" Cami let out a sarcastic laugh. "Believe me, I know better than to chase ghosts."

There was a long pause. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing." Cami let out a long, tortured breath. "It's just…sometimes I feel as if everything I thought I knew is a lie. My life is a lie."

She hadn't meant to say anything, and she could feel tears stinging at the back of her eyes. God, she had to hold it together.

"This doesn't sound like you," Georgia replied. "You're scaring me, Cami. What's going on?"

"I honestly don't know, Georgia," Cami said, taking deep breaths to stop herself from bursting into tears. "I just feel so alone. I'm so afraid that I…I might be falling apart."

Her breath stuttered on the last syllable, and that was it. Cami broke down, making loud sobbing noises into the phone while tears streamed down her face.

So much for holding it together.

She could hear Georgia trying to calm her. "It's all right. Take deep breaths, babe. Come on. It's okay. We'll get through this together."

Eventually, she was able to speak in between snuffles. "I'm gonna…look…for a Kleenex," she announced, knowing Georgia would understand she needed to compose herself. She put down her phone, went into the bathroom and pulled a bunch of tissues out of the box sitting on the counter. She blew her nose thoroughly and splashed her face repeatedly with water. The mirror revealed she looked all puffy and blotchy, but at least she could make articulate sounds—or she hoped she could. There was no way Georgia was not going to demand all the details seeing that she'd had to listen to Cami blubbering nonstop for ten minutes.

Cami returned to the bed and picked up her phone. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be sorry," Georgia said. "I'm here for you if you want to talk. You know me; I can handle anything."

Cami considered her friend's offer. Did she want to reveal her terrible secret? Did she want to admit that she was either going mad or the victim of something she didn't understand? Right now, she felt so lonely and frightened that she really needed to tell somebody.

"I love you," she said. "And yeah, I think I do want to talk."

So she told Georgia everything she had previously held back—about her lack of emotion, the selective amnesia, the events she had been caught up in, the fact that she believed she had been in a relationship that apparently never existed.

Georgia didn't say anything for a long time. Then Cami heard her exhale heavily. "I'm so glad you know about Mark!"

It took Cami a few seconds to process what Georgia had just said. "Wait a minute. _You_ knew about Mark?"

"Girl, I googled him the first time you mentioned his name. I wanted to see what this god among men was like. He sounded so perfect I got suspicious. So I looked him up on Facebook. The only things on his timeline were adorable pictures of his gorgeous wife and cute kids. Eight solid years' worth of adorable pictures. Then I found his LinkedIn profile. He's been working in Seattle for at least twelve years. There was no way he could've been living a double life with all the writing and the lecture tours and the clinical trials he's been doing. I knew it was the same Mark Steadman, because you showed me his book once. You were so proud you had been dating a renowned clinical psychologist."

Cami couldn't speak for a long time. "But…you didn't say anything. I was being delusional! Didn't you think I was nuts?"

"First of all, you know I would never use that term. Secondly, I thought it might be wishful thinking caused by a professional crush, or you lied because you were trying to impress me. I didn't have the heart to tell you I was onto you. Besides, it didn't hurt anybody, you bragging about your famous boyfriend. But now that you've told me about the emotional detachment and memory loss that's also occurring, I think you need to see a doctor right away. Seriously, you need to find out what's going on and get it treated. I'm sure I don't have to tell you it could be something potentially serious, Cami, like schizophrenia or Dissociative Identity Disorder."

"No, you don't need to tell me. My mind has gone through a billion possibilities. Mental illness, neurological disease, even a silent stroke. But then I figured it had to be something with a genetic component, because I thought what happened to Sean might be happening to me. But I haven't had a psychotic break. I haven't forgotten everything in my life from before three years ago. I remember living here, going to work. It's like certain memories have been erased and replaced with false ones."

"What are you thinking? That you've been brainwashed or something? You think somebody hypnotized you into forgetting your hot mystery man?"

"I know it sounds stupid. But maybe I'm suffering from post-traumatic amnesia. Maybe my brain has shut out the memories as a coping mechanism and filled in the gaps with things I'm familiar with. I just need to find out what happened to me three years ago." An idea ticked over in Cami's brain. "Georgia, I want you to promise me something. If you don't hear from me in the next twenty-four hours, call the New Orleans police and tell them my last known whereabouts were the Abattoir. They'll know where that is. Tell them I went to see Klaus Mikaelson. Got the name?"

"Fuck, Cami, no. Whatever you're thinking, don't do it. Do not do it, do you understand me?"

"I'll be okay. Just remember: the Abattoir, Klaus Mikaelson."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. The Abattoir, Klaus Mikaelson," Georgia repeated. "But please don't do anything stupid. This is way too dangerous."

"I know this will sound foolish, but I don't think he wants to hurt me. He could have done that last night."

"Babe, even if this guy is not involved in making people disappear, knowing the truth about what happened might not necessarily be a good thing. And even if it's not as serious as you think, being confronted with the truth could trigger you in some way. Just forget about it and come home."

"I will. I'll call you within twenty-four hours. I love you. See you soon."

Cami ended the call.

Georgia was right, of course. This was probably the stupidest and most dangerous thing she had ever done. But it was the only way she could think of to put her out of her misery one way or another, to end this torture of not knowing whether she was losing her mind. The Mikaelsons were the key to everything.

She just knew it.


	35. The Bad Guys

**Chapter 35: The Bad Guys**

"Klaus, do you think it's a good idea to spend all day in here by yourself?"

He continued to cover the canvas he was working on in long strokes of jet black. Maybe if he ignored Hayley, she'd go away.

"Hope is setting up her tea table in the courtyard, if you're interested."

Next, some Quinacridone Red to simulate his favorite liquid.

"Okay, how about a snack up here?"

Clearly, she wouldn't take a hint. "If you mean food, I'm not interested. And if you mean blood, again, I'm not interested."

He couldn't see her face, but he knew Hayley was giving him the look she often used when she was frustrated with him. "Klaus, you can't just mope around—"

"You mistake, love. If I were moping, I'd be nursing a bottle of bourbon and singing ghastly songs about cowboys in pickup trucks. Do you hear me singing?"

"You can't do this. Not again."

He threw down his brush. "I'm touched by your concern, Hayley, but I'm _fine_."

"Argh," she said. "This is about more than just you!" She moved up beside him. "I remember what it was like when Cami left town. You were a mess, Klaus. Angry for a whole year, depressed for a year after that… Everyone in this family, everyone who cares for you, we all went through hell with you. We can't go through it again. It's not fair to Elijah or Freya. It's not fair to Hope."

"Hope is perfectly happy."

"Yes, at the moment. But if she senses her dad is miserable, she will be too. You have to deal with it."

Klaus pulled another paintbrush out of the jar on the table. "I am dealing with it, Hayley. The only way I know how."

She didn't respond to that, and eventually she left the room.

He dipped his brush in paint and returned his attention to the canvas. Hayley was partly right. He was barely hanging on by a thread. He wanted to rage and tear down the house. Find a few victims to torture. Sink his fangs into some pretty girls and watch the life drain out of them.

But now that Hope was of an age that she observed and learned from everything that went on around her, he couldn't take solace in his old habits. He couldn't be the old Klaus Mikaelson anymore. He couldn't vent his anger and frustration, and he didn't know what to do.

Klaus heard a snapping sound and looked down. In each of his hands was one half of the paintbrush he'd just broken in two. "Third one today," he murmured absentmindedly.

He found himself wandering over to the wall next to the balcony where he kept some of his pictures stacked up against each other. Eventually, he found the one he was looking for. He dragged it out and propped it up on an easel.

He could never truly capture the essence of her spirit, but the likeness was good enough to make him feel even worse than he did already. He'd never been a masochist before—hurting others was more his style—but apparently he'd developed a taste for punishing himself. Ironically, if she were here, Camille would be the one to counsel him, bring him through the worst of days and set him on a better path.

Now he had to do it all on his own, and he wasn't sure if he, the most powerful creature on earth, was strong enough to get through it again.

When he thought he heard her voice, his heart jumped. Pain haunted all his senses these days.

When he heard it again, he rushed out into the hallway to find out what was going on down in the courtyard.

"I knew it!" Hope was saying as she bounced up and down. "I knew you were gonna come over! I have a place all set and everything!"

Camille stepped into his line of sight. Her face lit up in response to his daughter's innocent enthusiasm, and he felt a pang as he watched her from the balcony. Despite her smile, she looked drawn and tired. He wanted to take her in his arms and promise her nothing but happiness—except after last night, he had no doubt she would never let him near her again.

So what was she doing here? Had she remembered something after their unfortunate evening together? If she hadn't, how long would it be before she stumbled onto something? With each meeting, it would be harder for him to stay in control, not give anything away. But ignorance of their past was her only protection.

"I wouldn't miss out on an invitation to tea with my new friend," she said. "But I have something to do first, if that's okay, kiddo."

Hope shrugged. "I guess. What do you have to do?"

"I have to talk to your father." She glanced up and saw him. Her eyes widened and then narrowed ominously before she glanced back down at Hope. "After that, I'm all yours."

"Is this talk gonna take a long time?" Hope let out a bone-weary sigh. "'Cause when Mummy and Uncle 'Lijah go upstairs to talk, it takes _forever_."

Hayley appeared behind Hope, her face flushed. "I've got a great idea. While we're waiting, let's go pick out some of your dolls to bring to tea." She turned to Cami. "Hope has some nineteenth-century porcelain dolls that she adores to bits, which is great since they cost a fortune." She paused to get closer. "I find them kind of creepy," she said in a low voice, "but like a true Mikaelson, Hope has an eye for a quality antique."

"I do hope you're not talking about me." Elijah's voice filtered into the room before he appeared. "If I may put in a request, Hope, I should like Emmaline to come to tea this afternoon. I do so love her lush brown hair. Just like your beautiful mother's." He looked at Hayley adoringly.

"Emmaline's head came off, Uncle 'Lijah," Hope replied. "She had to go to the doctor to get it stuck back on."

"Oh, well, then, since Emmaline is indisposed, perhaps Victoria could accompany us instead."

"I think we put Victoria in storage," Hayley said. "Too many dolls, not enough room."

"This won't do," Elijah replied. "I insist you find her."

Hayley tried not to smile. "That will take a while."

"It's okay, Mummy," Hope said, taking Hayley's hand. "We'll find her."

"I guess we're going to find Victoria." She looked up at Klaus, raising her eyebrows subtly. "So we'll leave you guys to talk." With one last look as if to say _Make sure you know what you're doing_ , Hayley allowed herself to be dragged off towards the basement.

Klaus came down the stairs slowly. "That should buy us some time before my daughter returns to deliver her lecture on the correct sequence of underwear for the fashionable lady in 1860. Would you like to talk in my study?"

"I'm good where I am," Cami replied. "This won't take long. Oh, and before we start, I want you to know that I've taken precautions in preparation for this meeting."

"Precautions?" Elijah said.

"In case I go missing. I've left a note in my hotel room with your names and address on it. I've also informed a friend that if I don't call her within twenty-four hours, she is to inform the police this is where I was."

Elijah nodded. "Though not foolproof, it's a valiant plan, Camille."

"So don't even think about…" She paused. "You know my name," she said questioningly.

Elijah didn't miss a beat. "My brother told me he met an alluring young woman last night, and naturally I assumed it was you."

"I don't believe you." She scowled at Elijah and then at Klaus. "You're lying to me. You've been lying to me the entire time. You know me, but for some reason, I don't know you. Why is that? Did you have my memories wiped because I found out something I shouldn't have?"

Of course she had discovered the truth—a version of it, anyway—and yet she couldn't have been more wrong. Klaus just stared at her. He didn't know what to say.

"Oh my God," she breathed. "The detective was right. You really are the bad guys, aren't you?"


	36. Go To Hell, Klaus Mikaelson

**Chapter 36: Go To Hell, Klaus Mikaelson**

Cami instantly regretted her words. Telling the bad guys that you knew they were bad guys wasn't a smart move. She backed away a few steps.

The darkhaired brother raised his hands, palms facing towards her. "Please don't be concerned. You have nothing to fear from us, Camille."

Klaus took a step towards her. "I promise you that no one in this family has any reason or desire to harm you. You are safer here with us than you are out on the streets of New Orleans."

"Then tell me why the Police Department thinks otherwise."

"I would really rather continue this conversation without fear of my daughter overhearing us and becoming upset over nothing." Klaus gestured towards the staircase. "Please come up to my study." When she hesitated, he added, "I'll maintain my distance at all times, and I swear no one will try to stop you from leaving."

Even though her common sense screamed at her to stay put, something in Cami told her he was sincere, and that this strange bunch of people might actually be allies rather than enemies. And she wasn't going to get to the truth without taking a chance. "All right," she said. "But know this. I have a black belt in karate, and if you so much as breathe too close to me, you'll regret it."

She sensed Klaus knew this was a lie, because there was a hint of a smile on his face when he said, "I stand duly warned."

He guided her up the staircase and along the hallway upstairs. The house was old and had an almost spooky vibe to it, but each room she passed on the way was furnished with a contemporary feel. And these guys obviously had both money and taste.

Klaus gestured for her to enter the room at the end of the hall. "We can talk in here."

For what she supposed was a gangster's lair, his study had a surprisingly warm feel to it.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked.

"Make it a double," she said ruefully, watching as he went over to a decanter sitting on a cabinet near the door. He poured two glasses and handed her one.

She took a sip. Cognac, and very smooth it was too.

Cami decided to dive right in. "I want to know about the murder that took place in my apartment building. Stan Barowski."

"And why would you come to me about that?"

"Because you were seen there that night."

"I see." Klaus took a sip of his drink. "Well, I didn't kill the man, if that's what you're insinuating."

"But you know who did."

"Didn't the NOLA PD arrest someone for that? A mafia hitman, if the news is to be believed."

"Airbags Cinzano," Cami said. "But the police still seem to think you're implicated somehow."

"The police think a lot of things," Klaus replied. "Seeing that they don't know their arse from their elbows ninety percent of the time, I won't lose sleep over it."

Cami downed the rest of her drink and put her glass down on a nearby table. "It sounds like you've had problems with them before."

"I can safely say I haven't had a problem with the police in a very long time." Klaus smiled. "I promise you, I did not kill that man. Now, if that's all you want to know, I think my daughter is expecting you for tea."

He placed his hand gently on her arm, presumably to guide her out, but she shook him off.

"Are you protecting someone, then?" Cami asked.

He tilted his head. "Who would I be protecting?"

"Me." She took a steadying breath. "Did I kill Stan Barowski?"

For the first time, she saw genuine surprise on his face. "Camille, is that what you think? That I'm covering for _you_?"

"I don't know what to think," she said breathlessly. "All I know is something happened to me three years ago. I think it was something so terrible, so traumatic, that either my mind has blocked it out, or you've somehow…I don't know…erased my memories."

"Camille, you haven't hurt anyone." He sounded almost distraught. "You mustn't torment yourself this way."

"Then help me." She took a step closer to him. "I'm begging you. Tell me the truth."

He couldn't disguise the pain that flashed in his eyes before his face hardened. "Whatever truth you're looking for, I can't help you find it."

Cami got up in his face and glared at him. "Then go to hell, Klaus Mikaelson."

She pushed past him and stormed out of the room.

Marching down the hallway, something caught her eye in the room she was passing, and she stopped abruptly in the doorway.

There, staring at her, was a portrait of a woman.

A portrait of her.


	37. No Turning Back

**Chapter 37: No Turning Back  
**

Cami was transfixed by it.

She had never seen herself look this way. Every detail, every brushstroke revealed the artist's feeling for his subject. The portrait wasn't merely flattering; it was reverent. Intimate. Passionate.

"Oh my God," she said, walking up to it. "Oh my God."

She thought Klaus might try to come up with some glib, non-committal excuse for why he would have a painting of her in his home, but even though she could feel him behind her, he didn't speak.

A strange sort of triumphant feeling bubbled up in her as she inspected the painting. Her instincts had been right. This was why he had acted so strangely. "We were…lovers," Cami said, not knowing if she was asking a question or merely stating a fact.

After the longest of pauses, he answered her. "Yes."

"We… Were we..." Not knowing how to ask what she wanted to know, she turned to face him and made a vague gesture with her hands. "Was it…serious?"

His mouth was set into a grim line as he moved closer. He grasped her hand gently and held it up. With his thumb, he traced the M imprinted on the top of her ring.

"The M…the M is for Mikaelson." Cami gasped. "You gave me this."

He nodded. "Just before you left New Orleans."

"But why…why did I leave you?"

Klaus looked at her with such bleakness in his eyes that it gave her a jolt of uneasiness. "Because you had to."

An overwhelming sadness came over her. She knew something terrible had occurred, and now she knew that whatever it was had come between them. "What happened? I have to know. You have to tell me."

He shook his head. "I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"I won't lie to you," he said quietly, "but I cannot tell you the truth."

"I don't understand," Cami replied. "If you cared for me at all—"

"Don't say that." He closed his eyes. "Never question what I felt for you. Ever."

His pain was so raw, she felt her heart constrict. She was in deep water, and suddenly she didn't know how to swim. "Then free me from the agony of not knowing. Not knowing what's real anymore. Not knowing our story. Of not knowing _you_."

"There are worse torments, Camille," he said. "Sometimes the truth won't set you free. Sometimes the truth is a burden, not a gift."

She had no idea what he was talking about. "Stop talking in riddles, Klaus."

"I'm trying to protect you," he said in an agonized voice. "You don't want to know what happened. Believe me, you don't want to know me."

He was wrong. She did want to know him. His determination to push her away only made her more certain that her instincts about him had been right.

"Whatever it is you've done, whatever terrible thing happened to tear us apart, I can handle it."

He laughed mirthlessly. "That's just it. I told you once that if you knew even a fraction of who I am, it would break you in two. I was wrong. But I don't want you to have to bear that burden again just because you're strong and brave enough to handle it. You're better off without me in your life."

He backed away from her.

"I don't accept that. Tell me the truth!" In desperation, she tried to pull him back.

The moment her hand touched his arm, her mind exploded with sounds and images.

 _He vowed he would keep you safe._

 _He promised he'd give you up, let you go, if that was what it took._

 _You're going to regret what you've done to me._

 _I'm going to take away one of the few people you actually care about._

It was like she was in the middle of a movie playing in her head. She closed her eyes, unable to escape from the relentless barrage of memories.

 _I don't think even the all-powerful Klaus Mikaelson can make sure you have vampire blood in your system every minute of every day._

 _I can't run the risk of you putting two and two together._

 _I'll have to erase everyone from your memory._

 _Everything you know about the supernatural world._

Overwhelmed, she pulled away, and the images stopped. Cami felt her knees give way, and she would've collapsed if Klaus hadn't held her up.

He looked as shocked as she felt. "Are you all right?" he asked. "Come, sit down."

He helped her over to a chair by the window and then kneeled in front of her.

"I saw it, I felt it as vividly as if it were real," she told him. "Klaus, I remember something!"

"No," he replied sadly. "These are not your memories you're experiencing. They're mine."

"How is that even possible?' Cami recalled what the man in the vision had said. "What are you?"

"You know what I am. I'm a monster."

He didn't look like a monster. Right now, he looked melancholy and defeated. She should probably run for the hills—she couldn't even process everything right now—but she had a sudden urge to take his face between her hands and kiss away the sadness.

"You wanted to protect me. A monster wouldn't have done that."

"You wouldn't have needed protection if it hadn't been for me."

"I don't know who that man in your memories was," she said, "but what happened is his fault, not yours."

Klaus took her hand. "You have a kind heart, Camille. I fear you give me too much credit."

"I don't think so. I may not have all the details, but I now know two things. One, you did what you had to do. And two, I wasn't losing my grip on reality like I feared I might be. You have _no_ idea how relieved I am about that."

He turned his hand, which was holding hers, so that he could interlock their fingers. "If there is one thing I bitterly regret, it is causing you to doubt your sanity. Unfortunately, wiping your mind of the truth was necessary to send you away."

The knowledge that he could manipulate her perception of the world and her own life story was frightening, yet fascinating. She wondered if it was something she could use to further her understanding of the human psyche. "How did you do it anyway—erase my memories so completely? Did you glamour me?"

She saw his nostrils flare. "Bloody hell, that _Twilight_ has a lot to answer for."

"It's from _True Blood_ , but you know what I mean."

"In the real world," he said, "we call it compulsion. I compelled you to forget me."

"So you could decompel me, maybe? Reverse it somehow?"

"It's not that simple. I had to remove not only myself but nearly everyone else you knew in this city from your consciousness. It's easy to compel someone to forget a specific event, but to erase our entire history and the feelings we shared wasn't just a one-step process. I had to obliterate almost every aspect of your life as it really was and replace it with a semblance of reality."

"Mark, for example?" When he looked questioningly at her, she fumbled in her bag for the book she had brought with her. Cami folded back the spine so he could see the inside of the dust jacket. "Say hello to Mark Steadman. My perfect imaginary boyfriend."

"Oh, him," he said. "You were lucky I chose that chap instead of some of the other authors on the shelf. Psychology academics aren't a particularly good-looking lot, I'm afraid."

"But why did you make me think I was in a relationship with some guy out of a textbook?"

"The book was close at hand, and there was a photo of a tolerable looking man in it, one who was clearly successful and accomplished. I thought he was the best of all the options available."

"No," Cami said. "I mean why did you invent a boyfriend at all?"

Klaus glanced down at their hands, still joined in her lap. "I didn't want you to leave thinking you weren't loved. Because you were."

Touched by the gesture, she squeezed his hand. "And what about now?"

He looked up at her, the expression in his eyes intense. "You are still loved. More than you can possibly know."

Cami found it hard to breathe properly. "Then there must be something you can do to help me regain my memories."

He caressed her knuckles with his thumb. "There is a way, but…"

"But?"

"It involves a great deal of pain. And once we start, there is no turning back."

"I won't want to turn back."

He shook his head. "You say that now. But there is so much you don't know, Camille, about me, about my family, about my life. About _your_ life."

"You're right. There is so much I don't know about _my life_. And it's my right to know. If you really love me, you won't take that right away from me. You won't keep me in the dark."

He scowled at her, but his eyes were gleaming. "That, my love, is emotional blackmail."

"Uh-huh," she said with a smile. "Is it working?"

"All too well."

Cami decided to take it a step further. "Klaus, it's simple. Do you want us to be together again, the way we were before?"

"More than anything," he murmured so softly she could hardly hear the words.

"Then do it. Bring us back together. Bring me back to you."

He didn't move for the longest time.

Then he bent forward and placed a gentle kiss on the top of her hand. "Very well. I'll go find my sister."

"Your sister?"

"My sister the witch," he said. "The one who is going to help bring you back to me."


	38. How Long Is A Piece Of String?

**Chapter 38: How Long Is A Piece Of String?**

Klaus grimaced as Camille let out another in a long series of agonized groans, then squeezed her hand reassuringly. He hated to see her suffer like this. He felt useless, unable to do anything more than sit next to her on the bed in the spare room they were using and try to offer encouragement. The decompulsion process had been going on nearly all night, and they seemed to be no closer to a breakthrough than when they started.

"How long is this going to take?" he asked Freya.

She removed her hands from Cami's head and flexed her fingers. "How long is a piece of string? This is not an exact science, Klaus. We can't go too fast, or we risk frying her brain. And she and I need a break every now and then. It's exhausting for both of us."

"I can appreciate that, dear sister, but what you're doing doesn't seem to be having any effect at all."

"It's not easy to unlock so many fragments of memory," she said. "Give it time. Maybe you should find something else to do for a while if it's too much for you."

"It's okay, Klaus," Cami said, gasping for air between words. "You don't need to stay with me."

He used his free hand to smooth back the hair that was stuck to her face in sweaty strings. "I'm not going anywhere. You think I'm going to leave the room—leave you—and miss the moment you realize you're madly in love with me?"

The effort of smiling seemed to cost her whatever reserves of energy she had left, because she slumped against him. "Just consider yourself lucky if I don't murder you before this is all over."

He decided now wouldn't be a good time to point out that he was virtually indestructible, so he stayed silent and merely held her.

"Camille," Freya said, "are you ready to go again?"

She nodded wearily, and his sister placed her fingertips against Cami's temples and began chanting.

An hour later, Camille was trembling with fatigue and bleeding from the nose, but even though she could recall trivial events, the majority of her life in New Orleans still remained a mystery to her.

"This is unacceptable!" Klaus told his sister. "There must be an easier way."

Freya ran a hand through her hair. "Why don't you do something useful? Go get some cold water and some towels for me. And another water bottle for Cami. She needs to replace all the fluids she's losing or she'll get dehydrated, and the process will be even more painful."

"Forget the water," Camille said in a croaky whisper, her breaths coming in pants. "Get me something stronger. Please."

"Coming right up." Klaus caressed her cheek, promising he'd be back before she even missed him.

As he left the room, he heard Cami let out another cry of pain, but her voice was almost hoarse now, and she could barely make a sound. He had to steel himself from going back and putting an end to the whole barbaric operation. The only thing that stopped him was the knowledge of what was at stake and how much pain she had already endured.

Hayley and Elijah met him in the hallway, concern etched into their faces. "Any developments?" Elijah asked.

"Not yet. She's getting very weak. I don't know how much more she can take."

"She's strong, Klaus," Hayley said. "Just be there for her."

"How is Hope?"

"Ten minutes ago, she was still sound asleep," Hayley replied.

They had been checking on their daughter periodically all night. Hope had become attached to Cami in the short time she'd known her. In fact, they'd had to delay getting started on the decompulsion because Hope had found her doll and was dying to show it off to her new BFF. She served her guest tea and cakes, demonstrated the many layers of underwear worn by the proper Victorian lady, and then climbed onto Cami's lap and promptly fell asleep, even though she never napped during the day anymore and fought going to bed even when she was worn out. They feared that if Hope awoke during the night and heard Camille's cries of pain, it would confuse and frighten her. So far, their little girl had slept through the whole thing.

"I'd best keep moving," Klaus said. "Freya wants me to collect some water and towels."

"You go back in," Hayley replied. "We'll take care of the supplies."

He nodded. "I'm grateful for your support, both of you."

"We are family, Niklaus," Elijah said. "We know how important this is to you, how important Camille is to you, and we will do whatever we can to assist."

When Klaus returned to the room, he was frightened by how unresponsive Cami looked. Her eyes were closed, and she was sitting motionless with her chin resting on her chest, tears and blood smeared all over her face, as his sister continued to chant over her. He strode over to the bed and wrenched Freya's hands away. "Enough!"

His sister glowered at him, then gestured for him to follow her over to the window, presumably so they could talk privately. "I know it's difficult for you to stand by and see Camille in pain," she said in a low voice, "but we can't stop now. If we do, it will all have been for nothing."

"We cannot continue," he replied. "This will kill her."

"Then what do you suggest we do?"

"I don't know," he said. "Perhaps there's something in Mother's grimoire that might give us a clue."

"Daddy?"

Klaus and Freya exchanged looks before he turned at the plaintive sound of his daughter's voice. This night was becoming more and more of a disaster with each passing minute. "What are you doing up, monkey?" he asked in an artificially upbeat tone.

Hope stood in the doorway, rubbing her eyes. "I heard a big noise."

"Aw, it was just me, sweetie," Freya said unconvincingly. "I was singing a song, and you know I'm like a dog howling at the moon when I sing. I'm sorry if I woke you up."

Hope blinked a few times. "Cami?"

Camille opened her eyes and tried to smile. "Yeah, I'm still here, kiddo. You should be in bed."

"What's the matter?" Hope asked, padding over to stand in front of her.

"I don't feel so great," Cami replied. "Your Auntie Freya has been trying to help me get better."

Hope wrinkled her nose as she looked Camille over. "Your face and hair are all yucky."

"Well, that's not very polite," Klaus told his daughter. "Say goodbye to Camille, and let's get you back to bed."

Instead of doing as she was told, Hope pressed her tiny hands to Cami's cheeks. "I can make you feel better."

"It's all right, sweetie," Freya said. "Let the grown-ups handle it."

Hope ignored her and focused on Cami. "I know what to do. You want to remember stuff."

"I…that's amazing," Camille said weakly. "You're amazing. How did you know that?"

Hope leaned forward. "I'm a witch too," she whispered. "Uncle Kol says I'm the most inchewtive pupil he's ever seen in his whole, entire life. He says I kick butt."

"Not at three in the morning, you don't," Klaus said. He went over to the door and pointed at the hallway outside. "Come on, scoot."

But she was busy whispering some secret incantation.

Camille began to whimper. Blood suddenly gushed from her nose, and she shook violently. She let out a chilling scream before her head jerked forward.

"No!" Klaus called out and rushed over to the bed.

But by the time he reached her, everything had stopped.

His daughter had stopped chanting. Cami was no longer making any noise. The room was deathly quiet.

For an awful second, he thought the worst. Then Camille slowly opened her eyes and whispered, "Holy shi—h tzu puppies."

Hope got on tiptoe and placed a kiss on Cami's mouth. "You better now?" she asked sweetly. "You remember?"

Camille let out a shaky laugh and pulled his daughter in for a hug, then looked up at Klaus. "I do, kiddo. I remember everything. Including the fact that I'm madly in love with a certain member of this crazy family."

Freya mouthed a few choice curse words and flounced over to the door. "In case anyone's interested, I'll be in my room," she muttered. "Thinking about retirement."


	39. Welcome Home

**Chapter 39: Welcome Home**

 _Ten months later_

Cami sank into the back seat of the taxi and sighed in relief. She was home again. She had enjoyed visiting her parents; this trip was the first opportunity she had to spend quality time with them since she had moved out of their home and in with Klaus. They had parted on good terms this morning, and she felt for the first time her mother and father had made peace with her decision to be with him. But after a week in Stanford, she was glad to be back in New Orleans. This was where she felt truly alive. This was where she belonged.

Her phone buzzed. _When will you be home?_ Klaus had texted her.

 _I'm on my way_ , she replied.

Her phone buzzed again. _Would you care to join me for dinner this evening? I'll pick you up from your room at 7:30 pm._

 _I love you._

She smiled. _Why so formal?_

A few seconds later, she got her answer. _Because I want tonight to be special. Xox_

When Cami arrived back at the compound, the place seemed deserted. Feeling a little disappointed that no one was around to greet her, she trudged upstairs with her suitcase and went to the spare bedroom that she had taken over when she moved in. Even though she shared Klaus' bed every night, they both agreed that she would need a space of her own. And that space had become a haven, a place to read or think or just get away whenever the Mikaelson siblings turned a squabble over something minor into World War Three.

By six, she was unpacked and preparing for her date. Tonight, Cami wanted to take extra care with how she looked. She picked out an outfit she had never had a chance to wear before: an off-the shoulder dress in butter-soft teal silk, with a flowing skirt that ended a few inches above her knees and a ruffle that draped elegantly over her non-existent boobs. Intending to wear her hair in loose waves, she spent ages with the curling iron, but on impulse decided to pin her hair up in a knot instead. She put on silver drop earrings and strappy sandals and applied a little extra makeup, hoping the eyeliner and apricot-tinted lipgloss would add a glamorous touch. Last, she spritzed on a few sprays of her most sultry perfume, remembering that for a hybrid with enhanced senses, less was more.

Promptly at seven-thirty, there was a knock at the door. When she opened it, it wasn't Klaus standing there as expected, but a much shorter Mikaelson in a lavender tulle tutu and sparkly strap-on wings, holding a single pale pink rosebud.

"Who is this beautiful creature I see before me?" Cami asked with a laugh.

"I'm a princess fairy," her visitor replied.

"You mean a fairy princess?"

"Nah-uh. A princess fairy. I flew here to say that…um…" The fairy bit her lip and glanced down the hallway to her right. "Okay," she said in a loud whisper and looked back at Cami. "I flew here to say Klaus Mikaelson quests the pleasure of your… Klaus Mikaelson…" She let out a rush of breath. "Klaus Mikaelson quests the..." Hope pressed her lips into a thin line of displeasure, and Cami wanted to laugh at how much the little girl resembled her father at this moment. "Klaus Mikaelson _re-_ quests the company of…" Now the princess fairy looked like she might burst into tears out of sheer frustration. But instead she stamped her foot and scowled down the hallway. "Daddy," she whispered, "I can't remember it all!"

Daddy must have given his accomplice the appropriate stage directions, because she nodded and shoved the rose at Cami, saying, "Come on!" The fairy grabbed Cami's free hand and jerked her forward.

"Where are we going?" Cami asked on the way down the hallway.

"To my fairy rem."

Cami guessed Hope meant to say _realm_ , but she followed silently until they reached the room adjacent to Klaus' bedroom and Hope pulled her in through the doorway.

Cami gasped in wonder.

The room really was a magical place, lit only by a roaring fire in the fireplace and the soft glow of a multitude of candles placed on every surface. Plump pink roses were bunched into vases positioned throughout the room. A trail of petals led from the door over to a blanket laden with cushions spread out on the floor a few feet from the fireplace. On the blanket, a bottle was chilling in an ice bucket and there was a crystal platter overflowing with various foods.

"Daddy and I did all this by ourselves," Hope said proudly. "He said I'm the best helper ever."

"This is the most beautiful fairy realm I've ever seen," Cami replied. "Thank you for allowing me to be here."

Hope giggled and covered her mouth with her hand. When she looked behind Cami, her face fell. "Can't I stay? I want to show Cami all the stickers the teacher gave me." She held up five fingers." I got five this week! A Neatest Writing and two Star Reader and one Great Work—"

"Ahem," came from behind her. "I believe you're stalling, young lady. You told Camille all about your stickers when we called her this morning."

"But I have to _show_ her."

"You can show her tomorrow. The deal was you could stay up until Camille arrived. By the time you're ready for bed and your mother has read you a story, it will be well past your bedtime. Say goodnight and head off to your room. Mummy is waiting for you."

Hope's bottom lip trembled, but she sighed as if resigned to her fate. "Okay." She got up on tiptoe and put out her arms to Cami, who bent forward, and Hope placed a gentle kiss on her mouth. "Night-night, Cami."

"Sweet dreams, kiddo. I'm really proud of you for doing so well in school."

Dragging her feet, the little girl disappeared behind Cami. She heard lip smacking going on, and Hope saying, "Night-night, Daddy."

"Night-night, monkey," Klaus replied, and then the door closed softly.

Cami placed the rose she was carrying on a side table and took a few steps forward to admire the room. It was obvious how much care he had taken to prepare for their date, to make the evening a special one. He really was a romantic at heart, and she loved that side of him. "Klaus, this is so—"

The next thing she knew, his hands were wrapped around her from behind. "I missed you," he growled and kissed the sensitive spot at the side of her neck.

She closed her eyes and made a tiny humming noise. "I missed you too. This is a very nice welcome home."

Cami felt him smile against her skin. "Hope was so excited to show you the room. Please tell me you're not disappointed I'm not taking you to a restaurant."

"This is way better. I love it."

He went back to kissing her neck and splayed his hands over her hips, pulling her closer. "I hope you're not too tired to enjoy this evening. You must be drained after spending a week with your mother and father reminding you how you could do so much better."

"No, it was good," she replied, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck. "I think I achieved a lot. Georgia has agreed to come down here and see if she likes the place, and I managed to get my parents to stop being passive-aggressive and really open up."

"Miracles never cease."

"Just me using my training like I should have done a long time ago. This time I handled it like a family therapy session. We cleared the air and finally talked things through. I think our relationship is in the best place it's ever been." Cami paused to enjoy the sensation of his mouth softly tracing the shell of her ear. "Mom and Dad send their regards, by the way."

He kissed his way back down her throat and along the curve of her shoulder. "Your parents? The ones who consider me the devil incarnate? I think you're fibbing."

"Don't exaggerate. You're a supervillain at most. Certainly not the devil. But you know if you came with me and got to know them, maybe they would warm to you."

"With all due respect, love, I think we'll keep our relationship tepid and long-distance." He glided his hands up her arms and gently gripped her shoulders. "Come, let's sit down."

He steered Cami over to the blanket, and she tried to sit as elegantly as she could. Deciding that comfort was more important than elegance, she slipped off her heels. "I don't think I'll be needing these anymore," she said, tossing them aside and tucking her legs under her.

Klaus stretched out beside her, facing the other direction but placing one hand on her thigh to keep her close. "Don't stop there," he murmured as he leaned forward to kiss her. "You look stunning tonight, but please feel free to remove any other items of clothing you find superfluous."

"Easy there, tiger," Cami said, pushing back gently on his chest. He was looking sexy as hell tonight in a formal dark gray shirt and trousers, but the platter of food was looking even more inviting. It contained a mouth-watering assortment of her favorite things—shrimp, chicken, crusty bread, olives and oysters, plump strawberries and fancy little chocolates—and just looking at it made her stomach grumble. "The last time I ate was twelve hours ago. I'm famished."

"It's fortunate I put together a few things then. I thought you might have eaten on the plane, and it would all go to waste."

Cami let out a huff of sarcastic laughter. "When was the last time you traveled coach? You're lucky to get a whole seat to yourself."

He gave her one of his crooked smiles. "Then perhaps next time you'll take my advice and hire a private jet."

"Not all of us can travel in luxury like the Mikaelsons. Some of us have to mingle with the masses out of necessity."

"Camille, you know I can afford to pay for such things. You are my partner, and I want to share what I have with you. I want you to be happy."

"And you know I don't want to continually ask you for things. I already feel bad that I caved and allowed you to fund my practice—which I still consider a loan, by the way."

"I couldn't have you hanging around the house all day, moaning about not having a job and getting in my way," he said. "It was quite pathetic. I consider it an act of mercy, in fact. Mostly towards myself."

"Shut up," she said affectionately. "Make yourself useful and open that champagne."

Cami ate her fill while Klaus watched on, sipping his drink with that cocky smirk she loved and hated at the same time. "Anything exciting happen here while I was gone?" she asked as the juice of a particularly succulent strawberry escaped her mouth and dribbled down her chin.

Klaus wiped away the juice absentmindedly. "Well, I did find out where Lucien has been hiding all this time," he said nonchalantly, as if he was reporting on the weather.

"Wait…what?" Cami leaned forward. "You found him? How?"

"Like the treacherous weasel he is, Lucien ruined his alliance with The Ancestors by betraying his young friends Athena and Diana over some trifling matter. The witches realized what we all do in the end—that Lucien is a liability—and they led me right to him. He had taken a liking to the sunny climes of Portugal, as it turns out. Perhaps he'd had a spot too much sun, because he didn't suspect a thing."

"And…?" she prompted.

"And I killed him," Klaus said, popping a chocolate into his mouth.

"Goddamn," Cami said. "I wish I had been there to see it."

"No, you don't," he said. "Even by my standards, his death was brutal. Satisfying and well deserved, but not a pretty sight. I did all the things I promised him I would when I caught up with him. And more."

"I guess I don't need to know the details. But I can't feel bad for him at all, not after everything he put us through."

Klaus took her champagne flute and put it aside with his own. "Camille, there is something else you need to know."

"That sounds ominous," she said half-jokingly.

His face didn't soften. "Lucien told me something before I killed him. I don't know whether he was telling the truth or merely trying to save himself, and we will never know. But he said he did not compel you to kill yourself. The demonstration with the knife was real enough, but he told me he lied about everything else. The plan Lucien told us he had set in motion, that you would commit suicide when triggered by certain words, was supposedly a hoax."

"He was bluffing? That mother... Lucien was bluffing the whole time?" Cami closed her eyes as it all sank in. "We could have ignored the bastard and gone on with our lives? We could've been together all this time?"

"I'm sorry," Klaus said softly. "I couldn't take the chance. I'd never forgive myself if something had happened to you."

"I don't blame you for anything," Cami replied, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "We both did what we had to do. I'm just mad we had to go through so much shit because of him." She let out a deep sigh. "Son of a bitch. Now I'm really glad he's dead. And I'm not sorry that you made him suffer."

"To the end." Klaus grasped her hand. "Let us not be filled with regrets, or talk about what-ifs. I don't want this to spoil our special evening."

"Then you better take my mind off it," Cami said, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

"Ah, well, to that end I have something for you that I hope will do just that." He fumbled in the pocket of his pants, lifting himself up on his knees to dig into it with his long fingers. "Camille, I wish to give you something as a token of my esteem. Of my adoration, respect and love for you. Something I hope will demonstrate how deeply I care for you." He continued to dig around, eventually pulling out a small jewelry box.

A rectangular jewelry box.

A ring-sized rectangular jewelry box.

 _I want tonight to be special. I want to share what I have with you. You are my partner._

Cami's head swam. Was it…? Was he…?

He handed it to her, giving her a kiss on the cheek as he did so. "I hope you will accept my gift, Camille."

"Oh my God," she said, and she held her breath as she cracked open the box.


	40. Somewhere, Somehow

**Chapter 40: Somewhere, Somehow**

Sitting on the plush navy velvet inside was a pair of diamond and silver filigree teardrop earrings.

They were magnificent, the stylish, many-faceted gemstones sparkling in the reflected glow of the fire.

But they were _earrings_.

And Cami had misread the entire situation.

"I wasn't sure whether you already had ones like these," Klaus was saying, "but I don't remember seeing you wearing any, so I took a chance. I daresay one can't have too many diamond earrings."

"I don't have any diamond anything," she replied. "Thank you."

He looked at her, then glanced down at the box. "You don't like them."

"I do. I love them."

"You're saying you love them, but your exquisitely expressive face is telling me something different."

Cami gave him a broad smile. "I do love them. They're beautiful and tasteful and sophisticated. I love them so much I'm putting them on right now." She slipped off the earrings she had on. Klaus held the box for her while she swapped them for the new ones and hooked the elegant accessories through her earlobes. "I know I'm going to worry about losing them, that's all. I'm sure they cost more than all my other jewelry put together."

"I'm not convinced," Klaus said, placing the box next to their champagne flutes. He raised his index finger and tapped it against his mouth. "I think you were expecting something else."

"What would I be expecting? I had no idea what you were going to pull out of your pants." She realized what she had said. "Out of your pocket."

He just smirked at her. "What did you think was in that box?"

"I had no idea what was in the box," Cami replied with a shrug.

"No, but you were hoping for something…like a ring, for example."

 _Shit._ Cami could feel her face heat up, and the only thing that could save her from total embarrassment was bravado. "No offense," she said, holding up her hand and waggling her fingers to divert his attention to the Mikaelson ring she was wearing, "but one of these is enough. I have to work out just to give me the strength to raise my arm with this thing on."

"A family heirloom wouldn't come in a box labeled with the name of the store," he said. "You were expecting something different, something new." He went on tapping one finger against his mouth between each word. "What sort of ring would you think might be in the box?" He gasped in mock-surprise. "Could it be you thought it was an engagement ring?"

"Don't be an asshole," she said with an embarrassed laugh. "You set up all _this_ …" She swept out her arm to gesture around the room. "You talked about partnership… Hoping I would accept your gift… It was a natural mistake on my part. But don't worry. I know from our discussions that marriage is a social construct that is meaningless and irrelevant to the lives of immortal beings."

"Elijah and Hayley would beg to differ." He shrugged. "And not just them. Many immortal beings are very old, very traditional and very sentimental."

"But they're not you. And I'm not immortal."

"There are complications to our situation, yes," Klaus said. "But they are not insurmountable obstacles."

Cami wasn't sure where this was going. "So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I too am very old, somewhat traditional and unabashedly sentimental. So much so that if I were to present you with such a ring, I would make a formal proposal of marriage at the same time."

"That's generally the way it goes," she said lightly, but Cami felt the physical sensation of her heart dropping, even though she knew it was stupid to hope for something she didn't even need. She was happy with Klaus just the way they were. She didn't require a piece of paper or a ceremony to prove what she already knew: that he loved her, that he was as committed to her and their relationship as a man could be. She had never been overly interested in the whole wedding thing anyway, and even in her wildest dreams she never thought that Klaus—someone who could literally live for an eternity—would actually propose to her—a human who would inevitably age and die one day. The only way they could be together forever was if she became a vampire, and that was something they hadn't even begun to work through together. "I understand, Klaus. I really do. It's no big deal."

"Camille," he said, cupping her face and stroking his thumb across her cheek, "if I were to ask you to marry me, we would have to go into this with our eyes open. There are so many reasons why you shouldn't even consider it. I am not a good man. You know that. I'm not a nice man. I'm not an easy man to live with, and I never will be. I am temperamental and violent and petty and selfish and angry. I've done many terrible things, and I will probably do more in the future. Being with me brings danger and uncertainty into your life, and all of my baggage and that of my entire family. I cannot give you children—not children that we would conceive together. I can offer you nothing except whatever worldly goods I possess."

Cami let out a breath. She had to remind herself that until two minutes ago, she hadn't even thought about marriage, so she wasn't missing out on anything. "You know," she said, "I'm really glad you're _not_ trying to sell yourself as a marriage partner, because you suck at it. Seriously."

"I don't deserve you," he went on, still caressing her cheek. "I don't know why fate brought you to me, but I do know one thing. If you entrusted me with your happiness, I would do whatever was in my power to ensure you never regretted it. You are the love of my life, and I would remind you of that in word and deed every day we were together."

Cami took a moment to process what he was saying. "I'm confused. For a non-proposal, that sounded kinda like the real thing."

"Perhaps I was testing the waters," he said quietly. "If I did ask you to marry me, would you consider it?"

Her heart began to race, and she put a hand over her chest, as if that might quiet the erratic thumping. "I would consider it," she said. "If you asked me."

Klaus raked a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. "Then," he said, shifting so their faces were close together, "I ask you to become my wife, Camille. To be my friend, lover, and beloved companion in life. I vow to love you completely and unconditionally, to support your goals and ambitions, to be there when you need me, to cherish you always and keep you safe from harm. I will give my life for yours, if need be."

Cami took his face between her hands. "You already have," she pointed out.

"And I would do it again. I cannot promise to be the man you deserve, but—"

She stopped his words with a gentle kiss. "Enough with the self-doubt. I know the man you've always wanted to be and the man you've become. You have a good heart, Klaus. A generous one. A thousand years of abuse and betrayal made you believe it wasn't there, but I see it every day. Your family sees it. Hope sees it. Just promise me you'll remember that. Promise me you'll do right by them, and I will be there beside you, every step of the way."

He didn't respond for long seconds. "Now I'm the one who's confused. This means you _are_ seriously considering my proposal? Or perhaps…"

Cami chuckled. "Just so we're clear, that was a yes. Yes, I will marry you. Yes, I will be your wife, Klaus Mikaelson."

He ran a hand through his hair again, and Cami almost burst into laughter at the look of disbelief on his handsome face. "Then we need a ring to seal the bargain," he said.

Suddenly, he sprang up from the floor.

"Where are you going?" Cami asked. "Have you got something stashed away somewhere?"

Knowing him, he probably had ten centuries' worth of jewels lying around the house gathering dust. Cami just hoped the ring he presented her with didn't weigh a ton like the one she was already wearing. Not that she was going to take it off even if he did have something else in mind. It meant a great deal to her, and it seemed even more appropriate to wear it now that she was officially going to be part of the Mikaelson family.

Klaus pulled open one of the doors of a mahogany armoire standing in the corner of the room. He hauled out a large black case that looked like something an arms dealer would carry and brought it over to her.

"You know I like to consider every possibility," he said, kneeling on the blanket in front of her, flipping up the lid of the case and holding it open for her to see the contents.

"Holy…" Cami breathed. Inside the case were rows and rows of the most beautiful rings she had ever seen…diamonds, rubies, emeralds and sapphires…squares and round gems, pear shaped and ovals…solitaires and clusters…from slim bands to knuckleduster-size. Even in the dimly lit room, they were almost dazzling in their intensity.

She blinked at the brilliant array of jewels. "You did not have these sitting in a closet waiting for someone to wear them?"

Klaus raised an eyebrow. "That makes me sound rather peculiar. No, this is merely a selection of items from my favorite jewelry shop."

"Please tell me you didn't rob it just so I could choose a ring," she replied.

"Of course not," he said as if slightly offended by her remark. "The owner was very obliging in allowing me to borrow them."

"Without security?" Cami sighed. "You compelled him, didn't you? Klaus, we could've just gone to the store like normal people."

"But this is much more convenient. And I was hoping you'd be swept away by the romance of the gesture. So look at the bloody things, will you?" Despite his gruff response, there was a gleam in his eye.

"You're a troll, you know that?" she said as she ran her gaze along the first row of jewels. "You had this planned out the whole time. First, the fake out with the box, then the ambiguous speeches. You knew what you were doing."

"I admit I enjoyed the look on your face when you saw the earrings," he said. "But I'm not as Machiavellian as you think. I was hoping I'd have the chance to get to this stage, but I wasn't confident you'd say yes to my proposal."

"Then you should have led with these," Cami replied. "I love you, but hell, I'd be tempted to marry you for one of these suckers alone."

"I'll give you the whole case, then," he said with a lopsided grin. "That way you'll never leave me."

"I'm not going anywhere," she said, pulling him close for a kiss. "And jokes aside, you know I don't need _things_ to make me happy. I just need you."

"And I just need to be with you." Klaus traced a line with his knuckles across her jaw, making her shiver. "I love you so much, Camille." He kissed her, his mouth slanting over hers and making her shiver again.

When the case poked her in the stomach, Cami broke their kiss. "Can this wait?" she asked, nodding down at it. "My head is spinning right now from all these choices, and I think I'm going to need some advice from Hayley and your sisters."

"By all means," he said. "I can think of many equally pleasurable ways to celebrate our engagement." He closed the case and tossed it onto a nearby chair. "But before we do, is there anything else I need to arrange immediately? In all my thousand years of existence, I've never done this before." He ran nervous fingers through his hair again. "Should I ask your father for your hand? Bloody hell. I can only imagine how well that will go."

Cami thought about reminding Klaus that this was the twenty-first century, that she made her own decisions, and she didn't need anyone's blessing or approval to marry him. But she loved that he was trying so hard to get everything right. "That won't be necessary. But it might be nice if you came with me to give my parents the news."

Klaus' mouth quirked to the side. "I can think of nothing that would fill me with greater joy than to feel the condemnation in your mother's eyes boring through my very soul." He laced his fingers through Cami's. "But I will make an effort. For your sake."

"I'm not asking for miracles, just civility. Let's take this one step at a time with our families and see how it goes," Cami replied, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Speaking of family, do you think I should talk to Hope?" Cami knew Klaus' daughter was fond of her, but this was a big step for their relationship too. "Ask her how she feels about us getting married?"

"That won't be necessary, love," Klaus said. "She's on board with the idea. Ecstatic, as a matter of fact. I didn't tell her I intended to propose this evening for fear she might give the game away before I even popped the question. But she keeps saying something about how if I like it, then I should put a ring on it. I really don't know where she gets these expressions from."

"She probably just wants an excuse to get dressed up and throw confetti."

"No, Hope worships the ground you walk on. Almost as much as I do. Now, what were we saying about celebrating our engagement in more pleasurable ways?"

Klaus pulled Cami up onto her knees before cupping her face with one hand while he tugged gently at the nape of her neck with the other. Klaus showed her the pin he had withdrawn from her hair and kissed her, his lips warm and soft on hers. He withdrew another pin and claimed another kiss. A third pin, a third kiss.

When he had taken out the last pin, he threaded his fingers through her hair and let it fall through them. "I love the way you look tonight," he rumbled, "but I want your hair flowing over the pillow when I make love to you."

He went back to kissing her, running his tongue along the seam of her mouth, and when she opened it, teasing at her tongue until she responded. His gentle hands were everywhere, caressing her skin and setting it on fire as he always did.

Before long, they were both breathless. Klaus eased Cami down onto the blanket and put his weight on his forearms so he could lie over her. "Are you comfortable here, or shall I carry you over to the bed?"

"I think these cushions will work as well as a pillow." Cami reached up to brush a wayward curl from his forehead. "I want to stay here. This is where you proposed. Besides, it reminds me of the first time we made love."

"I never thought that would happen, much less that you would agree to spend your life with me." Klaus nuzzled her nose tenderly. "But I know I was meant to find you, my love, somewhere, somehow." He drew back to grin down at her. "My brave bartender."

Cami beamed up at him, her heart bursting with joy and love. "My hundred dollar guy."

They didn't speak after that, preferring to demonstrate their feelings through touch, through the soft sound of their sighs of pleasure, through the way their bodies fitted together in the most intimate connection of all.

And later, when Klaus had already fallen into a peaceful slumber, his face boyish and relaxed, Cami lay in his arms, content to feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against her head. Sated and drowsy, she thought about the promise they had made each other tonight. She had no idea what the future might bring. But she knew one thing.

They would face it together.

And that thought made her happy as she drifted off to sleep.

The End

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Thank you for reading and following this story, and a special thank you to everyone who took the time to write a review. This ended up a lot longer and more complicated than originally intended, but I had to let the story go where it wanted. And I wanted to give Klaus and Cami some of the happiness and romantic moments we never got to see on the show (#foreverbitter). I have tried to stay true to the lore of the TVD universe where possible (using the Vampire Diaries wiki as a source of information) but have deviated from TO canon post-episode 3x07 (obviously).

Thanks again for reading!


End file.
